


Shadow Knight

by Captain_Kiri_Storm



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Space Opera, Body Horror, Bottom Brock Rumlow, Dark Steve Rogers, Discussions of Murder, Discussions of Sexual Slavery, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Dubious Ethics, Food Issues, HYDRA Husbands, I got bored, Jack is Tired™, M/M, Mercenaries, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Character Death, Non-Consensual Body Modification, PLEASE HEED THE TAGS, Relationship Discussions, Slow Romance, Surpising Healthy Relationships, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Weight Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:01:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 35
Words: 42,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23224435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Kiri_Storm/pseuds/Captain_Kiri_Storm
Summary: Jack Rollins has a good life. Really, he does.He has a ship, a crew, and enough jobs to keep him rolling in credits for the next five months. Jack has everything he needs, up to and including a modified soldier that he picked out of a trash dump (it's a long story, that). What he doesn't need is trouble. Unfortunately for him, trouble is about to land right in his lap.You see, Jack has one rule in life: never play with the SHIELD. Not only do they not play well with others, they also have a habit of poaching his best men. SHIELD is up to their necks in all sorts of shady things and one of their rejects winds up smack dab in the middle of his life.It's not like Jack can just send him back to the hell hole he came out of. The best he can hope to do is make this little reject a Shadow Knight and hope he doesn't fuck things up too badly.
Relationships: Brock Rumlow & James "Bucky" Barnes, Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow, Steve Rogers & Brock Rumlow, Tony Stark/Stephen Strange
Comments: 85
Kudos: 79





	1. Chapter 1

Jack Rollins tried to keep on the right side of the proper legal authorities by greasing the right pockets. Every dock master, every cop, every keeper of the peace had their price and it was up to Jack to find it. Sometimes it was simple - give me thirty credits and a bottle of wine and I'll keep you off the books. Other time, it was something a little bit harder - go kill this person, go kidnap that person, get this bundle of drugs into one of the most secure facilities in the galaxy. Most of the time, it was something in the middle. Usually, Jack needed to stand in front of some building and look scary. That was easy and he could almost fall to sleep while doing it, especially if he was carrying a big enough gun.

This dick was looking at Winter like he was trying to word his "request". Jack knew what Winter looked like - the soft blue eyes and the long fringe of dark brown hair and the alabaster pale skin - but Jack also knew that Winter went from zero to sixty in under a second. Winter, for whatever reason, was just as likely to pull your head off as he was to kiss back if you tried anything. A few members of Jack's crew had learned that one the hard way. Jack eyed the dock master over, memorizing his looks. He was about six feet tall, with thinning grey blonde hair, and a perpetual sneer etched on his face. He looked like a real winner, if you asked Bodhi, but no one ever did and Jack wasn't going to inflate the guy's ego anymore.

"You might wanna rethink that," Jack said. He leaned against the slick, algae smeared brick wall and kicked aside a few rusted cans. "He doesn't like it when people touches him. He bites." Jack snapped at the man and grinned.

Winter wouldn't just snap. Winter would rip the bastard's throat out and then wonder why he was all itchy later.

"You got that tiger on a leash," the man rasped. He reeked of cheap booze and cheap boys. Jack's head was reeling from the stench of him. The guy needed a shower but hey, he was usually easy. This time, it looked like the dock master had grown a set of balls. The dock master picked at his yellowed and crooked teeth. "There's some bastard burning people to death in the Lakeshore District. It's bad for business."

"Consider it done." Jack offered his best "resting murder face", as Cal'dara put it, and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Come on, Winter. Let's go pay our debt to society, shall we?"

Winter looked at Jack like he's just suggested they go fly to the moons of Jupiter, but he didn't argue. Winter shuffled along after him, as silent as ever. Jack had given up trying to get into Winter's thick skull a long time ago and simply decided to just roll with it. It was easier that way. More planets were starting to crack down on "rogues" like him, so Jack figured that he deserved all the breaks that he could get. If that meant greasing pockets and killing people, that meant greasing pockets and killing people. Anything to keep the authorities from reading the _Hydra_ 's tags. She was a good ship, even if she was a pain in the ass, and Jack didn't want people to know she was on permanent loan from the Terran government.

Jack called it 'forceful borrowing', they called it 'piracy', his bank accounts called it 'payday'. Winter called it home sweet home and wondered why people made him shower after he killed someone. Jack figured that some slaver had fried Winter's brains awhile back in an effort to make a compliant gangbanger and they left Winter in the micro-cooker just a little too long. It wasn't that Winter was stupid, it was that he was unpredictable. He wasn't verbal, either. Jack had learned to read Winter's tics and that had saved everyone's bacon a few times. He figured Winter was like a rabid murder puppy - you fed it well and pointed it in the general direction of those you wanted killed.

As it turned out, Lakeshore was one of those places that the self respecting rich folk never went too. It was dirty, it was crowded, and the cobblestones were so full of filth that they were almost mired in. Jack made a mental note to clean them when he got back - there was no telling what he was picking up. He trawled through the bars, the taverns, and the street corners and asked around until he found what he was looking for. It was an easy enough job - shoot the guy through the skull and make sure that he never bothered the docks again. Jack didn't care who he was or why he decided to kill in the way he did. It was just a job and he had to do things to keep the dock master quiet.

His comm-link buzzed. Jack ignored it and turned back to Winter. Winter, who had found a piece of rope and was in the process of soaking it in fuel oil, looked up at him and cocked his head. Jack just rolled his eyes. He jerked the rope away, made sure that it was just them and the body, and lit the place up. What happened next, he didn't care. He just sent an image of the fire right back to the dock master and walked away. Maybe he was whistling a merry tune, maybe he wasn't. Winter even picked it up and managed a mangled version. It was more sound than Jack had ever heard from him, so he decided to encourage it. He wanted to hear that sweet, sweet sound from Winter, so he didn't say anything.

Jack just smiled and pulled his little murder puppy close to him. "Want a beer, Winter boy?"

Winter cocked his head and gave Jack an odd look. Winter didn't have the best memory in the galaxy, so Jack figured that he didn't remember exactly what a beer was, so he pulled the man towards a tavern. Maybe they'd try to get one of those forest tours later or he'd look into getting one of those nasty looking dogs that were chained up in front of the houses and businesses. Jack pulled out his comm as they waited in a booth. He ran his hands over the worn and cracked leather. It was filthy here, the menu stuck to the table from the filth and the grease. Jack wanted to douse the place in bleach. Winter, on the other hand, looked like he wanted to eat everything off the menu.

"You know something? I think today's your birthday." Jack just grinned at Winter and tossed out a few credit chips to ensure faster service.

If Winter even understood what that meant, he gave no indication.

Jack's comm buzzed a few more times. He grabbed it and thumbed through the questions - yes, they were docked safely, yes the fee was paid, and no, he didn't know who tracked mud in the halls and nor did he care. What he did care about, though, was the beer, the snacks, and how he was going to work his next job - guarding a convoy out of the system and into the nearest hyperspace lane.

All in all, it was looking good. Jack was pretty sure that things were going to go his way for once.


	2. Chapter 2

A surge of vicious satisfaction sliced through Brock's belly. He curled up on his side, trying to keep well away from even the smallest sliver of light. He needed to hide here until the ship was well and truly off the ground. Brock didn't care about what he'd done or how many thorns he was going to pull put out of his feet. It was worth it -all of it. It was worth the dogs he'd poisoned and the man he had left choking in his own blood. Speaking of blood, Brock had a bit of a problem with his ass. it was bleeding and the dull throb of pain had gotten a little bit worse. Brock shoved a wadded up piece of engine rag - hopefully, he wouldn't get infected - in the offended spot and tried to get warm.

He didn't want to go back. No, scratch that. They would have to kill him before he went back. Brock was no stranger to death and pain, so he figured that he had the mental fortitude to do whatever it was that needed to be done. He curled up a little tighter and dragged the ragged piece of fabric over his skinny shoulders. Brock had left the too-tight shorts with the dead man. Bering naked didn't bother him, as that was how he spent the majority of his time. Naked, on his back, and someone's cock in his ass. Brock wasn't sure if he liked the whorehouse or the mines worse. At least he was well fed and warm when he was nothing but a common slut.

He curled against the metal wall, glancing out of the engine bay with narrowed eyes. As plans went, this wasn't the best one he'd ever had. It was also the only one that had worked, so maybe he needed to rethink his technique or something like that. Brock shifted around, trying to make himself comfortable. His sore ass made it all that much harder. His body hurt like that one time he'd had the space flu - that last fucker had been a little bit too rough on him. This time, though, Brock had the last left. That one was choking on his own blood or lying in the Lakeshore morgue. It was what happened when you got it on with someone who wasn't exactly willing. Brock snorted.

As if slaves could consent.

Someone came walking down the hall, their metal boots making quite the racket. Brock pulled himself closer. His thin, limber body was quite flexible. It had to be, to do some of the things the clients wanted. Brock used that to his advantage, curling up so he was a tiny ball. He felt like he was a kid again, hiding from whatever overseer was pissed off with him today. It was funny - they had wanted to kill him because he'd been so hard to handle. It was amazing what a meat hook and a whip could do to adjust an attitude. Brock lowered his head. He winced when he saw the trail of muddy and bloody footprints. Well, it looked like his feet were a little bit more shredded than he'd thought.

"You might wanna get Winter for this one, boss."

The voice sounded male. Rough. Like he'd been smoking a pack of cigs a day for the past decade. Brock rolled his eyes. They sounded like pirates and if there was one thing he knew about pirates, they liked to fuck. He could make a living on his back if they didn't kill him first. It was a big if and it was also a risk Brock was willing to take. Last thing he wanted to do was pick up some nasty infection and be dumped out to starve to death.

"I know, you called me at least three times." The Boss sounded irritated. "Like I said, don't bother me unless the ship is on fire or you're getting shot at. It's simple enough that Winter could do it."

"Yeah, well, Winter don't talk so I called you." Goonwad #2 sounded like he had a smug smile on his face.

Winter sounded like hired muscle, the Boss sounded like some drug lord, and the goon sounded like every other whiny hired hand. Typical dime a dozen minion - you picked them up from the nearest dive bar, wasted them, and got another. Brock had seen the fall out from that half a dozen times - at least half the slaves he'd lived with had done a stent among the stars. Most of them died before they got out of there, but there was a lucky few who made it. Brock intended to be one of those few.

"Bodhi." The Boss must have looked at the floor. "Did you lock the ship down or not?"

"Nope." Bodhi cursed under his breath. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

"If you actually have a thought process in that morass you call a brain, I'd be surprised," the Boss snapped. He walked through the ship and came closer to the engine bay. "Get a blaster. No telling what's on this ship."

Brock ducked his head under the blanket. Screw him, it was a blanket because he said so. Not a piece of fabric that had been coated and stained with oil. Brock just kept his mouth shut as the door slammed open. He could hear the _click_ of a loaded blaster. The heavy feet, walking over the cold steel floor. Brock tried not to move. He offered a prayer to every god that he'd ever heard of so both of those men would go blind. Brock curled himself up even more. Gods above, this was going to be bad. They were going to find him and do who knew what with him. Brock figured that he probably needed to think these things through better before he jumped in with both feet and lots of noise.

Someone grabbed his head and yanked him back. Brock forced his eyes open and got a good look at raging dark green eyes. The guy had sharp, narrow features and a mess of brown blonde hair that was pulled back by a scrap of leather. A thick scar branded his chin, like he'd been hit with flying shrapnel. Brock might have stared at the guy like he'd just crawled out of the depths of hell.

 _Uh oh_ might have been the understatement of the century.

"Hey, big guy." Brock let the guy drag him through the ship by the hair. He got up as quickly as he could. "I mighta wound up in a bad spot, you know, just need to crash a little bit."

A guy with sharp, hard dark eyes glared at him. "I think we should kill him."

"And I think it's been a long time since you've had a good time." Brock gave Bodhi his best doe eyes and extracted his hair from the Boss's grip. "I can make it good on you, you know. I'm more use to you alive than dead." He stood up and pressed a kiss down Bodhi's throat. "You want a little more than that? I can give you whatever you want."

"What I want to know is why you're on my ship," the Boss snapped. "Never mind. Bodhi. Lock him in the brig - I'll deal with this when I'm sober."

"You heard the man," Bodhi slowly said. He yanked Brock's hair and almost dragged him to the metal bar hotel.

Well, at least it was better than rotting in a whorehouse, that was for sure. Brock just curled up under a proper blanket this time. He barely managed to duck when Bodhi threw a wadded up pair of sweatpants at his head. Brock dressed himself. He cringed when he saw the bloodstains on his legs and the rough grey bedding. Well, that was why they didn't want him. He was nothing more than a washed up old slut. Broken, dirty, past his use by date...

Maybe getting shot in the head would be better than rotting away here.


	3. Chapter 3

Winter butted Jack's hand and eyed the fruit on the other end of Jack's fork. Jack eyed the diced up kiwi and Winter's pleading blue eyes. Well, at least he was eating something other than an IV drip. That was the first thing that Winter had "eaten" - IV drips. He couldn't digest normal food. Neither Winter nor Jack had known that and Jack had fed Winter off of his plate. Winter had lost his lunch a few seconds later. He wasn't punished, but Jack had wrestled him into the bath and scared up a box of IV bags. Now that he wanted kiwi, Jack decided that he was going to enjoy that while he could. He popped the fruit into Winter's mouth and ignored the crew members who were rolling their eyes.

Jack allowed Winter to polish off the rest of his fruit and the other half of his soup. It was good, solid stuff. Winter needed all of the dense calories he could get. Jack just leaned back and checked Winter's glass. He had plenty of water, it looked like he had enjoyed all the dinner he wanted, and now he was looking to go to bed. Jack mentally prepared himself for sharing his sleeping quarters for yet another night. Winter had gate crashed his life and didn't seem to understand why a man had his needs. Jack had been on a three year dry spell, thanks to one brain dead stars knew what. Jack looked Winter over, taking in the new muscle that slid over his skin and the way he moved - catlike, like he was something out of an old spacer's tale.

Tony, one of the engineers Jack had picked up in a flophouse of all places, rolled his eyes. "You know, you're teaching him all sorts of bad habits. Might want to wean him off of this."

"I think I enjoy this." Jack ignored the dark eyed man and stood up to deal with his dishes. "If I wanted him out of my bed, I would kick him out of my bed. But I don't want him out of my bed and I won't." He caught Winter's mouth and thumbed it open. "He's a good boy for me. I don't care about the rest of you, but he's a damn good bodyguard."

Winter followed him into the kitchen and nuzzled over Jack's shoulders. He still acted like a giant cat - nuzzling and nipping at the man he had claimed for himself. Jack pushed him off as he walked down towards the brig. He didn't want to deal with the man he'd picked up yesterday. He had no telling who he was, what he was, or how he'd gotten so bloodied up. His medic said sexual assault and a trip through the woods. Jack didn't want to deal with him. He could always kick him off the ship, but going by how thin the man was and the haunted hazel eyes, he'd been through hell. Jack couldn't leave Winter on a trash heap and he couldn't leave that man to rot in some back alley.

He heard someone moaning and mentally prepared a lecture. He didn't know who it was - he'd counted everyone at dinner - but he did know that he did _not_ want to be exposed to whatever someone else was doing. Jack didn't want to have to think about someone else having sex when he was living with the galaxy's biggest cockblock. He knocked on the metal walls. Whoever it was only started to moan louder and added in a few more filthy phrases. Winter cocked his head. He bared his teeth. Jack ignored that - there was nothing he could do about Winter and sex. Jack rapped on the metal again, right before he decided to walk around the corner.

The slave he'd rescued was sitting on the bed, three fingers up his ass and his other hand wrapped around his cock. Jack just stopped and stared at the man - the clothing he'd given the slave were pooled around his feet. His back was arched up and going by the way he was squirming, he was feeling pretty good. Jack pinched the bridge of his nose. Well, he now knew who was making all those noises. He stalked forwards and kicked the bars of the brig. The slave jumped up and opened his eyes, but he just kept right on. Jack kicked the door this time. Winter, who was standing behind him, _snarled_. There was enough irritation radiating off of his body to make Jack back off.

" _Whore_ ," Winter hissed. His voice was raspy from disuse. He grabbed the bars and made the solid steel creak from the force of his cybernetic arm.

"Oh, so you talk now?" Jack asked. He turned and looked at Winter. "Three years and that's the first word you use? What about, 'thank you for saving my life, commander'? Or, 'thank you for sharing your bed and heart'?"

"I can do better than that big lummox," the slave drawled. He slid down the bed and turned around, exposing his gaping ass for all to see. He turned his head over his shoulder and flashed a big grin. "What do I have the pleasure of calling you, big guy? Sir, Master, Daddy... sweetheart, I can say anything you want me too. I can even deal with the cyborg, too."

Jack just blinked for a few seconds. "Uh, his name is Winter and don't call him a cyborg. He really doesn't like it."

The slave smirked at him and moved down to the door. "My name's Brock, though I respond to damn near anything you want me too. Pet, bitch boy, I'll answer to just about anything you call me. You don't gotta do anything for me, big guy. I already slicked myself up..."

Jack took a step back. "Winter, go get the medic and the drug test kit. I'm pretty sure Brock's on enough pills to pickle an elephant."

Winter vanished after giving Brock a dirty look. Jack wasn't sure sure why Winter hated Brock, but it probably had to do with Winter seeing Brock as the competition. He leaned against the riveted steel wall, looking over the beautiful man. And yes, Brock was beautiful - he had smooth, tawny skin that was devoid of any body hair. Where other men had a tangled, curled thatch of hair, Brock was completely bare. He had a long mane of dark, almost black hair and his cheekbones looked like they were sculpted by an old god. Jack did notice a nasty scar under his collarbone and a pale spot where it looked like he'd worn a collar. Brock knew he was staring and he licked his lips.

"I don't wanna go back," Brock slowly said. "I don't wanna go back there. They'll kill me after what I did."

"That seems like it's a you problem," Jack replied. He crossed his arms. "Now put your pants back on before I parade you naked in front of the entire crew."

"But what if I like that?" Brock asked. He caught Jack's nasty look, so he ducked his head and pulled the pants and underwear back on. He seemed put out by the fact that he was still hard enough to cut diamonds.

"Then I don't think you can stay here," Jack sweetly replied. "You see, I already have Winter. He's everything I need and want. Why should I take my risks with a washed up whore like you? Stars know where you came from!" He paused, still smiling. "I don't really like you and I don't want you to come on to me or my crew, understood? If you keep doing that, I'll dump you in the nearest possible flophouse and wash my hands of that entire matter - do you understand me?"

"Yessir." Brock hung his head. "Then what will you have me do?"

"Clean. If you can cook, cook." Jack shrugged and let the man out of the cell.

Brock lowered his head and shuffled out. He seemed defeated now, like this was going to go very wrong. Jack didn't blame him. He steered Brock by his shirt collar through the ship and made a little note to keep Brock out of the medical bay. The last thing he needed was for Brock to get high off of the painkillers. He didn't drag Brock, but he did make the guy hobble through the ship. Brock should have thought about this before he jammed his fingers up his ass, so Jack didn't think he was too sympathetic. He just plopped Brock off in one of the examination rooms. He knew what was going to happen - Brock was going to be subjected to a battery of unpleasant medical tests - but he just didn't want to watch.

Jack rubbed his head. He didn't know why, but he felt for Brock. Maybe it was his painful eyes or the way he shivered and hung his head. Jack just wished that he understood what was going on in his own mind right about you.


	4. Chapter 4

There was just one small thing Jack didn't know about Brock: Brock couldn't cook and he couldn't clean. He was nothing more than a washed up old whore, to quote the darling commander. He'd been a miner before that. He'd worked with his hands and then he'd worked with his ass up and his mouth open. At least he'd been issued with a standard crew uniform - a solid black body suit, a loose black jacket, and a pair of black boots. Jackie Boy didn't know this, but black was his color. He also got new underwear, which was always a plus in his book. Brock wound up with another two presents: access to the washing facilities and a tablet, so he could look important things up.

Today's job was learning how to scrub and mop a floor. Brock hauled the bucket through the ship, cursing under his breath as he walked and stumbled around. Brock slopped water all over his nice clean pants. He dodged a few of the crew members and even had Winter try to kick him. He _really_ didn't like that cyborg. Brock had no idea who had pissed in his Cheerios, either. Maybe he could get Winter back later, maybe he could do it never. The guy was scary strong - he'd almost squeezed solid steel in half. Brock wasn't going to argue with being called a whore, either. That was what he'd been since he was sixteen years old. Getting snapped at by a grumpy cyborg wasn't exactly a red letter day.

Brock knelt over the plate metal floor, scrubbing over it with a mixture of dish soap, a nasty smelling disinfectant, and as much water as he could carry. He used the mop to wipe it up. Going from the amount of mud and dirt caked on the floor, no one had ever cleaned this before. There maybe was a good reason for that, too. It was a pain in the ass job probably reserved for pain in the ass people. The metal gleamed after he'd dealt with it and he rather liked being able to see his reflection in the silvery metal. The _Hydra_ (and that was a creative name - calling her after her class) really was a beautiful ship under her years of asteroid dings and dust build up. She just never gotten a good, through deep cleaning.

Unfortunately, Brock was the poor sot who had gotten stuck with the job. At least he wasn't being fucked, though he had prepared himself just in case. He wasn't going to bleed if he could help it. And for his next trick, once he'd destroyed his back slaving over the floor, he was going to make dinner for the rest of the crew. Brock just hoped he could find a decent video or something simple enough that he could just throw it in a pot and forget it. He managed to occupy his mind by singing a song he'd learned as kid - this one was about a guy drowning in the ocean - and at least no one had yelled at him to shut up. He did get a few dirty looks as he sang, though.

Now it was time for him to cook for seven hungry men and one really cranky cyborg. Brock had no idea how to cook. The food he was used to eating came out of a can or a freezer pack. This was fresh stuff - good veggies, wine, and meat - and Brock figured that the food bill was already pretty high with Winter. He just doubled the meat and added a few more of the spices. It tasted pretty good to him, but he figured that his taste buds were ruined by all the processed shit he'd eaten over the years. This stew, loaded as it was with all sorts of veggies and chunks of meat that he may have sampled after he'd browned the lot, was something that he had only dreamed of.

Brock did add pearl barley, though. Just enough to stretch out the meal and to balance out the bread that he'd heated up. He ate in the galley, they ate around a table, and he watched that darling commander feed a cyborg off of his own bowl and spoon. Brock might have also cherry picked meat out of the stew. It tasted good and he couldn't help himself from scarfing three bowls of it. And maybe that wasn't a good idea - his belly started cramping almost as soon as he was done. Brock just held his stomach and tried to keep it all down. He'd eaten rotten meat before. That hadn't made him sick. He wasn't going to surrender his shredded stomach to a stew that he'd made!

"Hey! Brock!"

Brock raised his head and rubbed his belly. "What do you want?"

A short man crouched beside him, his black eyes concerned. "Are you okay? You look like shit and the last thing I wanna do is drag your ass to the morgue. You look like you're about the die."

"Remind me to curse out the medic," Brock grumbled. He clutched his belly. "That happened yesterday and I'm still sore."

"Yeah, I know." The guy dropped beside him and rubbed his head. "I'm Tony. I've had that exact same little experience too and let me tell you that he's actually gotten better." Tony paused. "Seriously. How much did you eat?"

"Must you know everything?" Brock snapped.

He doubled over and lost his lunch - all over the galley floor that he'd cleaned a few hours before. The stew didn't taste nearly as good coming up as it did going down. He flinched back as Tony touched him. He didn't like the guy, but he was willing to lie back and think of freedom if he had to do it. Tony just fussed at him for a few minutes and offered him a wet rag and water. Brock washed himself off. He cleaned up the mess he'd made, rinsed his mouth off, and tried to pretend that he hadn't lost the best meal he'd ever had. Brock leaned over the counter for a few minutes, holding his face. He really was a fuck up, wasn't he? He couldn't eat and he couldn't keep his own cooking down.

"I don't want you to actually die." Tony managed to get Brock to drink a bit of some fizzy, sharp tasting drink. "I was in a bad place, too. You don't need to eat however much you did. I've been in a flophouse, don't know where you came from, but you don't need to wind up dead."

"What got you in there?" Brock mumbled. "I was... born a slave."

"My dad kicked me out cause I didn't want to marry someone," Tony quietly said. "I was young and stupid and things happened. Jack saved my life. I owe him a lot and I think you'll like him."

"He called me a whore," Brock muttered. He lowered his head even more. The insult stung, even if it was the truth.

"Yeah, he's blunt." Tony squeezed his hand. "I don't know if anyone's ever told you this before, but stars above, you're beautiful." He touched Brock's cheek with gentle, trembling hands. "Jack might skin me alive, but it'd be so fucking worth it." Tony leaned in and brushed a gentle kiss over Brock's cheek. "Were you made by the angels, sweetheart?"

Brock slid to his knees. "If that's what you wanna think... _sir_."

That must have been the right thing to say, because Tony's eyes darkened and he pulled Brock into a kiss. Brock kissed him back and dropped his hands just a little bit lower. This was what he was used to doing, not cooking and cleaning like he was doing now. Tony seemed to want him. Brock liked being wanted and he was more than willing to do whatever it took to keep from getting punished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the beef stew Brock made: https://damndelicious.net/2020/02/29/best-ever-beef-stew/. It's really, really good (this is my go to internet recipe) and it's better if you double the red wine. I like it better with a skirt steak instead of sirloin.


	5. Chapter 5

Jack quietly did his paperwork with Winter in his lap. This was pretty common - Winter liked to be warm and he enjoyed nuzzling into Jack's side. Jack thought it had to do with the scent. Jack had been the first person Winter had known when he was woken up and he'd been blind for several weeks. Winter's senses were even more powerful that a normal man's, so it was very likely that he would know what Jack _smelled_ like. For that reason, Jack tried not to change his shampoo and body wash too much - it might upset his Winter and that was something Jack didn't want to do. Whatever the reason Winter was attached to him, he seemed to enjoy just pressing his nose into Jack's neck and taking a nap.

Not tonight, however.

Winter raised his head and growled softly. He struggled up, kicking the blankets aside as he prowled through Jack's living quarters. Jack lounged back and watched him. Winter grabbed the patchwork throw pillows. He sniffed them, pawed at them, and tossed them aside. He pulled Jack's books out and pawed through some of the older ones before he shoved them off. Winter played with the lamps, touched the hidden hold out blasters, and generally made a mess out of the place. Jack tried not to think about it too much. There was no telling what was going through Winter's mind right now and Jack wasn't going to try to find out. For all he knew, Winter was too annoyed about Brock being here.

"Did you like dinner?" Jack slowly asked. "If you liked dinner, you need to let Brock live here."

Winter growled at him. If he was a cat, his ears would have been flat back against his skull and his fur spiked up. Jack raised his hands. He didn't know what was going on, but he let Winter pull him out of his quarters. At least this time, he was wearing clothes instead of his fleecy night pants. Winter had been known to drag Jack out of bed for just about anything he wanted. Jack tolerated it, but he liked to be wearing pants when he was walking through his ship. He followed Winter through the gleaming steel corridors. The ship looked a lot better now that Brock was scrubbing it down, but Jack was getting the bad feeling that Brock was some place he wasn't supposed to be.

Jack had a bad feeling about this. He rubbed his face as he walked down towards the crew quarters. He tended to leave this place alone if he could. However, going by the low grunting sounds coming from Tony's quarters, some was having fun. He knew what Tony sounded like, but he had no idea who was in there with him. He rubbed his face and tried to think about where Tony came up with the cash to buy a girlfriend for the night. He gave a very agitated Winter a nasty look.

"Don't cockblock my crew," Jack sighed. He rubbed his face. "I'll tolerate you cockblocking me, but don't do that to the rest of my crew. That's what us normal people call rude."

Winter cocked his head and yanked the door back. Jack yelled a warning, but there was no way for him to warn Tony quickly enough. Tony jumped and scrambled out of the way. In doing so, he tossed Brock to the ground. Brock grabbed at the colorful quilt Tony slept in, but Jack for a good look at his naked body. Two sets of terrified eyes stared right back at him. Jack just stood there. The door was wide open, the air reeked of sex, and Brock looked like he was going to be limping. Winter, for his part, was going through everyone's boots and helping himself to Tony's stash of chewing gum. Jack pretended to ignore what was getting stashed in Winter's pockets.

"Brock..." Jack tried to look disappointed, but he wasn't. "Do you think I'm that stupid?"

"Well... a man can hope?" Brock suggested. He grabbed at his pants and flushed. Going from the mess, he'd had a good time. He stood up, tossing the pants aside. "But come on, big guy. What're you gonna do, just denying yourself like this?"

"It's called being a decent human being. You need lessons." Jack grabbed Brock and hauled him out of the room.

Jack didn't care that the other man was rubbing up on him and nibbling kisses down his neck. Brock squeezed his hand. He tried to press Jack into the wall, but Winter _snarled_. He grabbed Brock with his metal hand and squeezed. Brock made a squeaking sound and tried to throw Winter off, but Winter slammed him into the wall. Brock yelped. He almost slid down the wall. Jack saw the blood, but there was nothing he could do. Winter decked Brock across the face. The smaller man's head snapped back and he tumbled to the floor. He shook like a leaf caught in a storm and tried to get away from the raging man. Winter kicked him savagely. Brock screamed as a snapping sound echoed through the metal hall.

"Winter!" Jack grabbed Winter's arm and rubbed his face. "Winter, that's enough! You're going to kill him!"

Winter growled and tossed Brock to the ground. Going from the way he was snarling and acting, he wouldn't mind if Brock wound up dead. Jack just said nothing as he helped a shaking and nervous Brock up. He deposited the man in the medical bay none too gently and decided that he was going to get drunk. He might even get Winter drunk, too.

Maybe it would help his attitude some.


	6. Chapter 6

Brock curled up in the medical bay, holding his ribs. His throat hurt like he'd been deep throating a blaster and it had ripped up his insides again. He pulled the blanket over his head and just tried not to cry out. He didn't think Winter would pounce on him like that. The cyborg moved like some sort of giant jungle cat. There had been murder in his blue eyes. He had expected a little jealousy, yes, but nothing like getting slammed around, choked, and stomped on. Winter was a real pain in the ass and if Brock had the ability to do so, he would have spaced that annoying cyborg. As it was, he was curled up and trying not to sob from the pain of it. He supposed that he should have been used to it, but the pain never quite went away.

The medic, a bleached blonde man with hearing aides, crouched in front of him. "Hey, buddy. I think anyone could have told you that was a bad idea."

"I didn't think he was that violent," Brock murmured. He rubbed his chest and took the drink. It was smooth and cool going down, curling down in his belly like a contented cat. Brock coughed softly. "I thought he was grumpy, but not... not murderous."

"And you are a bloody fool." Clint cracked a wry smile and helped him sit up. "So. According to the scans, you have cracked three ribs and looks like you bruised your trachea." Clint cursed under his breath and adjusted the hearing aide. "Damn thing. Been dealing with this stuff for a thousand years and you'd think they'd fix this by now." He paused. "All I can do is give you the good pain pills and have you rest for a few days. No heavy work and don't try to swallow anything, for the Star's sake!"

"Do you think I'm some kind of bad boy?" Brock drawled. He hurt, but he managed to smile. It was genuine, for once, and not one of the ones that he offered the others.

"I think you're going to be a royal pain in my ass," Clint replied. He stood up and grabbed for his medical kit. "I'm being serious about not exerting yourself, not unless you want those ribs to splinter. I don't care what you get up to in your spare time, but those bone growth tablets aren't cheap. I don't wanna give you that unless I have too - some of us have a habit of getting shot up."

Brock nodded and relaxed back. The drugs made him a little lax and sleepy. While he would love a wet washcloth, he wasn't above sitting around being filthy. Clint had the lights turned down low and had covered one of the walls in a plush, brightly colored rug. It felt good to lean against and the pillows made his sore hips feel a bit better. Tony had been a little bit rough. He was a bitch itchy, but it was so nice and warm on the cot that he didn't want to get up. Besides, he'd been dirtier. Maybe he was just getting soft here, even though it had only been two days. It was amazing what food, clean clothes, and a wash room could do to a man. Brock liked the feeling of clean clothes against clean skin, maybe a bit too much.

"I've never been shot," Brock mumbled. He felt loopy and syrupy, so they must have given him the good stuff. "Been strung up with a meat hook, but I've never been shot. Does it hurt a lot?"

"Uhh, yeah?" Clint looked at him like he'd just grown three heads. He tossed another blanket on top of Brock. "A meat hook?! Why the hell -!"

"I was bad," Brock slurred. "I bit the guards. They didn't like that very much, so they strung me up and left me there til my collarbone came out. It hurt. It hurt like a real motherfucker and I got blood all over the place."

"They..." Clint rubbed his face and just sighed. "Okay, I'm going to try and ignore what happened because you can clearly use that arm. Just don't tell me that stuff, will you!"

"Okay?" Brock grinned up at him and tried to grab at Clint's face. "You're kinda cute. Does giving you a hand job count as strenuous?"

" _Yes_!" Clint yelped. "You are not allowed to do that until your ribs heal or until I say you can, you oversexed pain in the ass!" He grabbed at his hair. "Just... don't, okay? Can you survive not getting your dick wet or your ass wet so your lungs don't get speared? I don't care if you think you're the best thing since _Cleopatra_ , but you will be sitting and resting if I have to sedate you!"

"That sounds like fun," Brock giggled. "You think that would be a lot of fun? Would it be the good stuff, too? The good stuff like this stuff?"

"The good stuff so you're out of it for a week," Clint muttered. He rolled his eyes and turned the lights off. "Just go to sleep, Brock. Don't say anything that's going to get you in trouble later and whatever you do, don't annoy Winter. He probably wouldn't take to you very well. And another word to the wise - don't try to kiss Commander Rollins, alright?"

"But he's so handsome!" Brock lowered his head and laughed so hard his chest hurt. "I like him! I like him more than I like the good stuff." He paused and tried to string two words together. "Might I have some more, please? I promise I'll be good!"

"Just go to sleep," Clint groaned.

He shut the door behind him and left Brock alone. Brock tossed the blankets off of himself and rubbed his eyes. They bought that old trick every time. Brock hadn't ever really had sedatives that ever did things like that to him. What it was doing was making him tired. Not exactly what Brock needed, because he really wanted a wash, but he figured that he could work with what he had. He forced himself out of bed and staggered to the smaller shower tucked into the corner. It was walled off with more curtains and the entire place smelled like an old spice cabinet. It seemed like Clint liked spicy smelling soaps, so that was what the man had stocked with. Brock didn't like the spicy, herbal scents, but he was willing to use it if needed.

The hot water felt like heaven on his tired muscles. Brock was used to making do with a rag and a bucket of lukewarm, dirty water. This, with the powerful shower head pounding his shoulders, felt like heaven. The soap streamed over his body and down his black hair. Brock would have liked a haircut, but he wasn't going to push things. He could make do with the things he had. Brock took time cleaning out his ass. He never liked to let their seed dry in him, as it meant that he felt filthy inside. At least he was getting to wash now.

Brock rolled his eyes as he actually curled up in his little nest. He couldn't get soft, not here and not now. It might well be a death sentence.


	7. Chapter 7

Jack needed to get his show on the road, sooner rather than later. He grabbed for his comm and flipped through the available jobs. As much as he disliked escorting cargo ships, the cash was easy. A few milk runs would do good, give the crew a much needed confidence boost, and give him more time to deal with Brock. Jack settled back on the couch and picked out a job. Nothing really hard - they just had to escort a lumber ship. Rosewood was one of the most valuable woods in the galaxy and Lakeshore had some of the largest known standing strands. The _Hydra_ would be guarding the _Tycho_ until the _Tycho_ hit the nearest hyperspace lane. The _Hydra_ was much smaller than the bigger carrier ship, but she had three times the guns and shielding technology that was better than none.

He got up and wandered down to the bridge. Jack checked everyone's bracelet -they were all on the ship. Winter, who had been sleeping on the floor, looked up as Jack started pressing the buttons. The gangplank retracted into the ship with a quiet groan and the engines quickly came on line. Jack called up a holographic display, checking the reactors and the life support system. Metal creaked and groaned as the thrusters came online. He fed the main boosters just a little power before sending the _Tycho_ a quick ping. She was a much larger Gamma-class freighter and Jack fully expected to wait a few hours. Her engines came online in hours rather than seconds and she was still loading.

"Captain Kay'lan, this is Captain Rollins of the _Hydra_. Got anything good for me?" Jack asked. He nudged Winter aside with his foot, knowing that he would need the steering yoke.

"I do, Captain." The Martian woman narrowed her bright purple eyes. "I need you to wait for me at Point 34-A. We'll be in the air by fourteen hundred hours - we're still in the loading process. We've had a few near misses with the pirates and the last thing I want is to be staring down the cold steel of one Captain Storm. Your reputation is a damn good one."

"We're good," Jack said. He grinned, looking the tall woman over. She was tattooed in intricate patterns, like most of her species, and her stiff hair was braided into a thousand plaits. Jack just shrugged. "I don't think any two bit pirate is going to get your load."

"Good." Kay'lan narrowed her eyes and grabbed something off the screen. She turned around and motioned for a younger Martian. "I'll have Dy'sian send you a few things. I'm going to extend your contract until we get to Helios. I don't want to lose this load to pirates - if the company loses another one, it won't go well. Do you have any other contracts or do I need to have another crew waiting on me?"

"Extending is fine with me," Jack quickly said. He watched as the files showed up on the shipboard computer. "Thank you for that. I'll read through it and sign it. Standard stuff?"

"Standard stuff." Kay'Lan nodded. "I need to get going, by the way. It's a big ship and this is a heavy job."

"I understand." Jack offered his best smile, not the one that made him look like a murderer, and killed the transmission. He looked down at Winter and sighed. "Hi, Winter. Do you mind getting off my feet? I need to prime the rest of the boosters and you're in the way."

Winter looked at him like he was speaking Japanese, but he slowly moved away from Jack's boots. Jack walked over the man and primed the rest of the pumps. He had to input the codes in manually and he didn't mind doing that. The _Hydra_ was borderline impossible to hack - she ran on closed system and she had a rudder chain and a section of ship was reserved for the system of chains and pulleys that ran the internal gyroscopes. Jack waved a hand over the start up message and paid the rest of his fees before he took the ship straight up. She groaned softly before obeying and she handled like a dream. The control yoke shivered with power under his hands. Jack smiled - he loved doing this.

Jack pulled the ship to starboard and neatly banked her. He slotted himself into the traffic stream and set a course to the rendezvous point. Those became popular after congestion in the skies lead to a massive collision and nuclear fallout over the city of New Atlanta on Terra's Moon - it turned out that allowing ships with nuclear reactor cores free reign in the sky lead to some tragedies. Jack settled the _Hydra_ into a nice little clip, rubbing her main control board. This much, he could do on his own. He knew all of the codes by heart and she wasn't that hard to handle if you respected her. Of course, SHIELD never had and they had ran this fine old ship into the ground.

He shuddered. Jack shook his head and tried to banish those memories, but he touched a ragged scar in the process. Jack fingered it for a minute. The slight loss of dexterity was worth his freedom - Jack wasn't a soldier anymore. His men were all sworn to secrecy that he was a Terran soldier - grown in a vat and used to fight dozens of wars around the universe. His genes had been selected by a computer at random and he'd been raised, if you called it that, by a team of droids. Jack shuddered again. He needed to focus on the job at hand, no chase demons from his past. He frowned, though, when he saw the flight plan. It did take them closer to SHIELD than he would have liked, but he was listed as dead.

There was no need for that to change that, right?


	8. Chapter 8

Brock sat on the floor outside of the bridge, quietly mulling over what he was going to need to do to get into the Captain's good graces. Cooking was probably his best bet, but he would much rather like to do his work on his back. It was probably better that Jack didn't know about that little plan of his. Brock played with his tablet some. He needed a way to get around that firewall and disable the child safety measures so he could actually visit the fucking internet again. He'd done that a few times when he was owned by one man rather than a brothel. Brock had never made ant accounts, but he'd enjoyed reading things and he'd gotten into a series of online novels.

Maybe he just wanted to see how it ended. Besides, it had felt nice to read something or pray to a being that just might be there and maybe help him out.

Jack walked out of the bridge and gave Brock a long look. "Is there any particular reason why you're sitting in the flow of traffic or are you looking to earn the title "Most Annoying Man in the Crew"?"

"I wanted to get on the bridge, but my bracelet won't let me in." Brock held his wrist up and sighed. He couldn't exactly purr and do his sexy slinky thing when he was locked out of the bridge, could he? "Anyways. What do you want for dinner? I found a video on the internet that showed me how to make a really nice green curry and I like to spike the rice with a little sesame oil. So... uhh... whatcha want for dinner?" He nuzzled Jack's neck and tried to smile some. "If you want to do something extra after dinner, I'm open."

"I want you to stop rubbing on me." Jack shoved Brock off and glared at him. "I don't know what your little thing is, but I happen to live with the world's most dangerous cockblock and I don't feel like picking you out of the air vents! And you're locked out of the bridge because I just don't trust you yet. And why should I?! You're an oversexed pain in my ass!"

"I'm a member of your crew?" Brock straightened up and grinned some. He blew a kiss to Jack, heedless of the danger. "Then why don't you treat me like a person instead of some pain in your ass!"

"Because you are!" Jack shoved him against the wall and growled softly.

There was something angry in his green eyes, something dangerous. Brock swallowed. Just one of his hands was more than enough to pin his neck to the wall and one hand circled his skinny arms. Brock swallowed softly. He had a really bad idea, but he was going to have to do so. He needed to have a better place in the crew. From what he knew, members of the crew didn't get locked out of the bridge unless they were really in deep shit. Brock leaned his head forwards and pressed a kiss to Jack's lips. Jack sputtered and tried to throw him off, but Brock held on like a limpet. He kissed Jack deeper and tried to moan into it. Brock rubbed against Jack and tried to purr like a little cat.

Jack shoved him off and slapped Brock across the face. " _Get the fuck away from me_!"

"But I like you!" Brock protested. He just gave Jack his most innocent look and tried to keep the look out of his eyes. He didn't really like Jack, but he was more than willing to sleep with the man. "But I like you a hell of a lot more than I like the other. Even though Clint's really easy on the eyes and Tony isn't a pain in the ass like some of the others were."

"I do not need to know about your sexual exploits." Jack had a pained expression on his face, but he let Brock follow him like a little dog. He stopped and gave Brock a very long look. "You're free now, you do understand. You... You don't have to do any of that anymore. You can do just do whatever you want, within reason. You don't have to try to sleep with anyone and I would highly suggest that you stop trying to get in my pants. Winter is going to kill you if you don't stop trying." He paused and sighed softly. "I do like you, you know. There's just... something about you that I like, even though you drive me mad."

"Then how about you not hitting me?" Brock suggested. He pulled his low slung shirt up a little bit and sighed softly. Maybe he did need to wear something else and stop altering his clothes so they weren't so hip hugging and do tight. He wondered if it would feel nicer against his skin. Brock crossed his arms and looked at the wall. "I don't like getting hit, you know. I might be a pain in your ass, but I like to think that I'm a person, too. Maybe... maybe you could treat me like one? I think I would like it."

Brock might have just been a whore, but he didn't like being beaten.

Jack shook his head. "I'm sorry about that. I just lost my temper. Please don't kiss people without their consent, alright?"

"Alright." Brock offered Jack the sweetest smile he could and decided to hold his hand instead.


	9. Chapter 9

Jack hated being the one bearing bad news. The ending of a furlough was always bad news, especially if he was having to deal with the pain in the ass that was one Brock. As much as Jack wanted to braid Winter's hair and feed him candy all day, he had a job to do. That meant that he had to make sure everyone was rounded up, the larder had been restocked, and the water tanks flushed. It wasn't a fun job, but someone had to do it. It was also why Jack was paid the big bucks. He had to get Winter rounded up and make sure that Brock wasn't trying to do something stupid in the broom closet. It wasn't the most fun thing in the world, but making sure that Winter was bedded down in the cabin was nearly a job and a half.

Jack pressed a kiss on Winter's head and left him alone. He knew where Winter was and he knew where all the others were. Now all he had to do was find the _Tycho_ and hit Point 34-A. It was a bit like finding a needle in a haystack, only this needle was equipped with a sort of electronic tracking device that made his job a hell of a lot easier. All Jack had to do was find the homing frequency and let the computer chew on it for half an hour. He had already gotten the ship in the air an hour or so before and, while this was a good deal of hurry up and wait, he could do a few things. He had his contract and he had everything else he needed. Brock could fend for himself. He was an adult, after all.

Brock cleared his throat as he stood in front of the sliding metal door. "May I come in, please? I just wanted to see what it looks like. I swear that I'm not a pirate." He cracked a crooked grin and snorted. "I'd suck as a pirate. I'm too sexy for that shit."

"I don't trust you," Jack flatly said. He crossed his arms and grinned when he saw just how much shorter Brock was. "Pirates are usually taller, too. And they have better hair. So no, I don't see you as a pirate. I see you as someone who has been through hell, but I don't see a pirate." He moved a little closer and took the man's hand. "I see a very tired man who just wants a nice place to sleep at night."

"And I see a dashing Captain McSexypants," Brock chirped. He reached a hand up and flicked away a little hair. "Did I ever mention that I like green eyes? I really like green eyes."

Jack just shook his head and pushed Brock aside. He needed to work with his computers. They were things of beauty and grace, made for a life of brutal abuse, and he treated them like the ladies they were. Jack settled down in the Captain's chair, stroking over the holographic displays. The reactors looked good and his oil pressure was great. His reactor rods had a decent amount of fuel left in them. He had all crew on the ship and everything was looking right as rain. Well, if it ever rained on Lakeshore. He banked the _Hydra_ a little to port and started to increase the power a little bit more. The ship hummed underneath him and her readings looked great.

"Uh oh." Jack raised his head and cursed under his breath. "Looks like we got some bandits at twelve o'clock."

Tony poked his head in and cleared his throat. "Hey. We got trouble. Looks like the _Tycho_ has some assholes on her tail. We might need to get some of our guys on them before that ship blows."

"Battle stations!" Jack barked.

He pulled the _Hydra_ up and aimed her straight at the swarming fighters. They were slender and a brilliant silver color. The locals called them 'needle noses'. They certainly looked like a pair of needle noose pliers. Jack aimed the ship right at the big transport in the middle. He had his own cannons, but he tried not to use them. He rolled the ship to port and watched as a volley of fire went straight at the fighters. Jack rolled the ship again and fishtailed her right into a cloud of needles. The ship's alarm blared - it looked like his ventral fins had been damaged - but everything else was alright. The _Tycho_ put up her own shields, but she couldn't manage both the heavy shields and her reactors.

The _Hydra_ bucked under him. Jack rolled the ship again and sent her right into the fighters. Three of them splintered on the impact and another four went straight down into the ocean below. He gritted his teeth and finally pulled his own guns online. The ship rumbled with the impact. He could hear the ship whining with the strain, but he had to do it. He aimed a few volleys at the rolling transport. He caught her in the rear and a chain of reactions spread across her ass. Jack took the ship right into the fray. He rolled the ship again and watched as the last of the fighters were caught. Jack brought the _Hydra_ up and brought her close to the _Tycho_. She had a few holes in her, but otherwise she looked fine.

"Kay'lan!" Jack yelled. "You guys okay?"

Kay'lan's image flickered across the screen. "We're fine. A little shaken, but still fine. How did you fare? That was some fancy flying, by the way. You fly like a freaking agent!"

Jack rolled his eyes. "We're fine. And don't ask me about that - I don't like lying to people I consider to be my friends."

He cut the transmission and sat down, rubbing his eyes. He had been an agent, once upon a time. It was something he tried to forget. He got drunk a lot during those first few days. He'd sliced the chip out and nearly bled to death. Very few of Jack's crew knew that he'd been grown in a tank and made for war, rather than raised and born in the normal way. Jack didn't want to think about that anymore, so he got up and rubbed his head. He didn't want to lie to Kay'lan. She seemed like a nice person. There was no way she might be able to connect him to General Steve Rogers and his Howling Commandos. He liked to consider that Kay'lan was a friend, but she probably had no idea just how brutal Rogers was to his men.

Jack sank down in the leather chair. He needed a drink. Or three. Maybe even more.

He just needed to get those images out of his head.


	10. Chapter 10

Brock cried out when he slammed into the metal wall.

He'd been hurt worse. He'd been fucked dry and bloody. He'd been beaten up and tortured and chaos knew what else. He shouldn't have screamed when he hit the metal so hard that he could hear them crack. Brock slunk to the cold, metal floor, a hand over his ribs. This crate had a shitty gyro system and she was throwing him around like a groundnut in a hot skillet. Brock just lay on the ground, trying to brace himself against the metal walls. The ship rolled and bucked around him. Everything around him had been bolted down. Every breath felt like he was being stabbed with a red hot poker. Brock just wanted to get out of here, on a ship that wasn't throwing him around.

He'd been hurt worse. Brock had been in agony before, but this hurt more than anything else. He closed his eyes and hunkered down, trying not to cry. It just hurt and he wanted the pain to stop. He'd do anything. _Anything_ to make it stop. He'd never been in this much pain before, either. When he coughed, he spat up blood. A part of him thought he was in the mines again and he was watching another slave die in the mines. He'd seen black lung. Brock had watched as bits of lung came up when a slave was coughing. He was afraid that was him and his lungs were burning something awful. Brock closed his eyes. It hurt so much. Pain in his ass he could tolerate and ignore, but pain in his lung was a bit too much.

Jack came running down the hall and helped him up. "Brock? Brock! Are you okay?!"

"It hurts," Brock whispered. He looked up, the blood staining his teeth. "It hurts so much. Please make it go away. I'll be good, I promise. It hurts. It hurts so bad and I don't wanna hurt like this."

"Clint!" Jack yelled. "Get your ass down here! We need a medic!" He turned back to Brock and soothed his hair out of his eyes. "It's gonna be okay, Brock. I promise. We're gonna get you patched up in no time. You're going to be fine."

Clint came running down and ran a scan over Brock's chest. "Yeah, one of his ribs went through his lungs. He's covered in fractures, Jack. We need to get him in the tank, _now_. Actually, he should have been in the medical bay yesterday and I have no idea why I missed these because he's got some nasty ones." Clint took a deep breath. "Okay, I need you to pick him up. Be real careful because you could shred what's left of his right lung." Clint grimaced. "Going by the calcium deposits, he's had these for a long time."

Brock wanted to tell him how he'd gotten them, the number of times he'd been beaten, but his mouth was filling with blood. He coughed weakly and hung his head over Jack's shoulder. The man smelled good, but his lungs hurt and he just wanted the pain to stop. Maybe it meant that he was going to die. He just didn't care. Brock wanted the pain to end. He'd never hurt like this before. The pain seemed to well and throb from within. He just wanted the darkness to swallow him up and take him in and make the pain just go away. Dimly, he heard the men open the door to the medical bay and soon a cool liquid enveloped his body. Brock didn't try to fight the breathing tube.

He didn't know how long he floated there. Brock was so much out of it that he just didn't care. The coolness felt so good against his hot limbs and he could feel the nanobots get to work on all the places that hurt him. The tearing that he'd just ignored, the tearing that no amount of lube could ease. Scars that had made walking, hell, even _breathing_ , painful. Brock had always been good at ignoring pain. He just hung there, letting the coolness work its magic. Pain had been something that Brock had lived with for a very long time. He almost didn't know what it would be like to not have pain. Brock knew that the nanobots would work on him from the outside in and he figured that Jack needed him hale and healthy.

Brock's eyes had been sealed to keep the nanobots from fucking the delicate structures up. That hadn't happened since the early days in this sort of technology, but it was always a risk. Brock didn't mind his eyes being sealed, but he wished there was a way he could get the gel out of his ears. Brock wanted to shake his head, but then he just stirred the bots up. He didn't like doing that, but he also hated the mite scars on his legs. A part of him wanted out of this tank, but he had to stay in. His ribs hurt, but it was a dull pain instead of the sharp, jabbing pain that had made him want to die. Brock could deal with the dull pain. The dull pain was manageable, just not something that he really enjoyed.

Clint took him out. "So, you were good and fucked up. I hope you enjoyed your little stay in Hotel Nanobot Tank, because I sure as hell don't want to do that again. I really hate seeing you guys floating because it reminds me of what happened to me."

"What happened to you?" Brock slurred. He didn't struggle as Clint peeled the tape off. "You know, I don't mind getting my eyes sealed shut."

"You, my friend, are weird." Clint shook his head and got Brock to sit down. He was as wobbly as a newborn colt, even though he disliked it. Clint just shook his head, a wry smile on his face. "I've been shot up a few times - the last time that happened, the slug went in one side of my heart and out the other. That's how I lost my hearing, too."

"Can I stay seated?" Brock asked. He rested back against the wall, trying to understand what it was like to not be in pain. He glanced up at Clint and just smiled. "Thank you. I... It's been a long time since I've not been in any sort of pain. I don't know how I'm gonna get around when my knees aren't throbbing in pain or I can breathe. It's nice to not be breathing in some hot coals or something like that."

Clint just shrugged. "I'm a medic. We save lives and give you some relief."

"Thank you." Brock managed to get to his feet and pressed a kiss to Clint's cheek. "Thank you so much. I really mean it."

Clint returned the kiss and gave him a wry smile. "Thanks but no thanks. I don't like jumping people's bones."

Brock patted the seat beside him. "Then sit with me. I could use the company."

Clint curled up beside Brock and rested his head on Brock's shoulder. Brock just smiled. It had been a long time since he'd had something like this and it wasn't like Jack would give him the time of day anyways.


	11. Chapter 11

Jack curled up under a blanket, nibbling on some of the candies he'd bought earlier. He loved these - they tasted like Terran peaches and they seemed to melt in his mouth. Jack hadn't ever been to Terra. He had been born on a colony far away from there and, as such, he was almost seen as being less than. He wasn't Terran. He was one of those dirty colony types and they made sure he knew it. A part of Jack wanted to see Terra, but he was rather partial to A'tay'oh and her sprawling vistas and beautiful mesas. She was drenched in warm, bright colors - bright golds, dark reds, and more hues than they eye could name. Jack needed to go back there, but he had nothing to tie him to A'tay'oh.

His parents were dead and his village had been burned in a Kai attack. Jack wasn't keen on visiting the memorial and he _really_ didn't want to explain the thing to Winter.

Winter curled up in his lap and snagged some of the candies for himself. Winter's bright blue eyes closed in appreciation. He nuzzled Jack after a few minutes, touching him all over with both hands and purring softly. He petted Winter's hair absently, wondering what the other man was. All he knew was that Winter was some sort of enhanced soldier, even though that program had been cancelled almost a century ago. From what Jack knew, such human experiments were illegal. That, of course, didn't mean that various governments had tried. The Chinese Confederacy had tried it and their experiments had been destroyed and the scientists shot into space. From what Jack knew, the Americans had tried it. Their scientists had been spaced, too.

"You know what sugar does to you," Jack whispered. He pulled the rest away and sat up. "Want to read? Want some more braised beef and rice or do you just want to sleep?" He kissed Winter's head again and considered calling for Brock. If, of course, he wasn't kissing up to Clint. Jack just rolled his eyes. "Or do you just want to sit here and glower at me because I let Brock hold my hand?"

Winter's ice cold gaze was all the answer he needed.

Jack sighed and dropped his head against the cool metal wall. "Winter, Winter, Winter. Just because I think he's cute in a jackass-ey sort of way doesn't mean that I'm going to toss you on your ass. You're my Winter, my only Winter. You're the one who went with me to the grotto and looked at all the shrines." The less Jack thought about that trip, the better. The only good thing was the bread the monks gave him as a gift for killing some bandits. "I love you, Winter, but I think I want to get to know him. You're okay with that, right?"

Winter gave him a hurt look and buried his head in Jack's hands. "But what if you don't want me anymore?"

"I'll always want you," Jack promised.

He cuddled Winter before getting the other man off of him. It was time to scan the hyperspace lane and make sure that there was nothing lurking there. It was a rare ship that could drag another out of hyperspace without an atomic blast, but it had been done. There was also a little problem called hyper-dragons. Those things were pretty damn rare, but they did exist and they could take out a small destroyer. Jack had never actually seen one, but he had heard that they were only 'dragons' in the literary sense. No one really knew what they looked like, but they could destroy a ship like nothing else. The last thing Jack needed was for a dragon to attack the ship he was guarding. That meant that someone had to man the scanner and that someone happened to be him.

Brock looked up from his perch on the Captain's seat. "Clint let me in. I... I missed seeing the stars."

Jack grunted and poked the scanners. The readouts flared up in his face. He could only track the _Tycho_ because he had exchanged a tracking chip with her captain and even that was only so powerful. If it wasn't kept plugged into the ship's core, it would short out or lose all power in all of two hours. This was looking to be a long trip. Captain Kay'lan wanted him with her until she hit something that resembled civilized space. The Kai tended to be assholes and they still weren't over one slaving clan's attempt to start up an interest for pretty green eyed boys with tails and cat ears. Jack thought it was because Kai could and would eat people and drink blood. They weren't exactly the best neighbors in the galaxy.

"I don't think you can see them if you're in hyperspace," Jack quietly said. He turned around, his hard eyes searching Brock's body. "What exactly were you trying to do? Hack my computers?"

"I wanted to see what a ship's bridge looked like," Brock admitted. He crossed the room and took Jack's hand. "I don't even know what those things are, but it looks stunning. I think I would like to see more of it, maybe learn how to use it." He looped his hands over Jack's shoulders and drew the taller man down to him. "How about you show me what some of those things are and what they do. I think I would like that."

"I don't want Winter to kick your ass again," Jack whispered. He leaned down and kissed Brock. Just a chaste and simple kiss, but Brock deepened it and groaned softly. Jack broke it off. "I think you're a very beautiful man and I would love to make you mine, but I can't. Winter would piss his pants and I don't want that."

"Winter is a pain in my ass," Brock growled. He looked incredibly frustrated and he tried to kiss Jack again. "I've wanted very few things in my life and... and you're one of them."

"I know." Jack held him close, watching the undulating strands of black, gold, and silver plasma. Staring at hyperspace for too long could make you go mad, so he tore his gaze away. "I want you, too. I just don't want Winter to lose his shit and especially on you." He kissed Brock again and tucked the smaller man under his chin. "You're the most beautiful man I've ever seen, you know. The things I want to do with you..." He trailed off, pressing another kiss on Brock's forehead. "I can't, though. You're..."

"Me." Brock kissed him slow and deep, his dark eyes wounded.

"Beautiful." Jack kissed him back and groaned. "I think I like you. I would want to know you better - would you like that?"

"I think so." Brock held him close and didn't let go for the longest time.


	12. Chapter 12

Brock loved sleeping in Jack's bed. It was so warm and gentle, so full of warmth and good scents that he never wanted to leave. Brock had been made for a very specific purpose - to bring pleasure to whoever wanted it. Some pleasure slaves were essentially brain damaged - chips embedded in the back of the skull only allowed them to do what the slavers wanted to do. It could have made him fall in love with even the most cruel of men and love him unconditionally. The chips could even do some work overcoming sexuality. Brock had never seen it work, but he had heard that there were cruel princesses and queens who wanted pretty slave boys who didn't want them or even anyone.

Of course, those boys often killed themselves because of the way the chip tried to overwrite their very being.

Jack wrapped his strong and scarred arms around Brock's body. He stroked Brock's hair, smiling softly as he did so. Brock nuzzled deep into his body, letting himself enjoy Jack's dark, musky scent. Jack smelled of engine oil and mint wine, of hard work and other things. He didn't reek of filth and sweat like some of the spacers did. Jack was kind and gentle, allowing Brock to touch his hair and curl up close. Brock was a made man - his life was worth less than almost everything, even if he was made for a wealthy woman and discarded after her husband murdered her. Brock didn't blame the man - the woman had been as hard and cruel as all the ice moons of Ky'vilo. She had finally pushed things just a little too far and then the old man had killed her.

Brock looked up and nuzzled Jack again. "Are you sure that Winter isn't going to come tearing in here and wring my neck?" He shivered and pressed a chaste kiss to Jack's shoulder. "I really don't want to die, even if it might seem like it at times."

"I have him eating dinner with Clint," Jack softly said. He pressed another kiss to Brock's shoulder and stroked through his hair. "Butter chicken is his favorite meal, so that's why I had you try to make it." He smiled once again and ruffled Brock's short, spiky hair. "It tasted very good, by the way. I'm sure the crew loved it - it was just the perfect balance of creamy and spicy and it's going to keep Winter occupied for a very long time."

"I hope so," Brock whispered. He nuzzled up to Jack and tried to focus on the beating of the other man's heart. He loved curling up on someone's chest, loved hearing the throbbing of another man's heart. He glanced up and pressed a kiss to Jack's cheek and he wished that he could have done more. He still didn't think that Jack wanted him. He was used, he was broken, he was made. He looked down and sighed. Brock had to make sure that Jack knew - some men wouldn't touch a clone. "Jack... I gotta tell you something. I was made. I have a template - I don't know anything about him, but I've been told that there are several of us and we had problems. They... they liked to chip us."

"I'll never do that," Jack promised. He kissed Brock deeper and pulled him closer. Brock could feel that he was aroused, but he didn't want to do anything about it. He was too upset. Brock just wanted to get away from all of this, but he didn't know if he could just bolt. Jack pressed a kiss against Brock's throat. "I never could take that away from you, Brock. And it doesn't matter where you came from - I still think that you're one of the kindest men I've ever met."

A part of Brock wanted to scream about his rights and the push to give clones and made beings equal rights. To ban chipping. To actually do something with the brutal tortures that slavers could come up with.

He fingered a weathered silver cross that rest around his neck. "My mother wasn't really my mother. I wasn't her child by blood. She cared for me after I was de-chipped and they dumped me." He shuddered and tried not to think about the blood and the way the dogs had ripped her body apart. "I wasn't good for them. I was young. I was bad. They hung me up by a meat hook and tortured me when I tried to strike one of them. Then the mine went under and I was sold to that... that hell house!"

"I'm sorry," Jack whispered.

Brock jerked away from him and _hissed_. A dark rage passed over his beautiful, fine features. Brock shoved Jack away and scrambled out of the warm, soft bed. "Don't tell me you're _sorry_. Not until you know what the fuck I went through. Not until you've felt some of my pain. Not until you've watched as the person you loved was beaten to death or eaten by dogs, even if you were forced to love her." He pulled his pants up and glared even more. "I don't need your fucking pity, _Captain_. You can take that pity and shove it up your ass."

Jack held up his hands. "Brock - !"

"Don't 'Brock' me!" Brock glared and gave him the nastiest look he could muster. "I don't need anyone's pity. I'm not a fragile little flower that's going to turn into dust!"

He turned on his heel and marched out. Brock didn't need pity like that. All it would do was drag him down and make him weak - and if he was weak, he would die. It was as simple as that.


	13. Chapter 13

Jack didn't bother following Brock around. He didn't know what had upset the man and he didn't want to try to find out. He decided to go rescue Clint. He paused before he entered the galley, wondering what he was going to tell the other man. Winter was incredibly possessive of him. He didn't seem to understand that Jack had a life of his own, even if Winter did seem to have a thing for blonde men. That meant that he had to be careful with Winter and Clint. Jack liked Clint and Clint liked Jack. There was just one problem with this situation, though. That problem was named Winter and Winter needed a haircut and a bath. Jack was the poor sot that had to get Winter wrestled into the shower and drag a comb through that manky mess he called hair.

He knocked on the galley door and walked inside. "Winter? It's time for you to get your weekly scrub down. You're getting kinda ripe and I don't want that in my bed." He walked over and squeezed Winter's suddenly stiff hands. "And you need a trim. I'd rather not have to sedate you - I think you're one of the sweetest, kindest men I know and I want to treat you like that. You need a wash and I want to make it a good wash."

Winter gave him a dirty look, but he left his sometimes plaything alone. Clint saluted - a rarity for the snappy medic - as he started to clean up. Jack walked beside Winter, keeping him well away from the rest of the crew. The information Jack did not know about the man standing beside him would probably fill a large novel. Jack was very well aware that Winter was dangerous. He could have trigger words that turned him into a rabid killing machine. Winter was fast and his metal arm made him almost impossible to take down. Jack had never seen a metal that behaved like Winter's arm did - it was almost fluid and it never seemed to heat up or get cooled down. Jack hoped that it never malfunctioned, because he didn't know how to fix it.

He got Winter into a large tub of soapy water and stripped off his own clothing to join him. Jack would have preferred not to do this, but it went better if Winter had a buddy. A part of him wondered if large tanks of water had been used to break him - Winter _despised_ showers and it could he hard to get him in the wash if he didn't want to go. Jack hadn't been joking about the sedation. On instinct, he kissed Winter's cheek as he started washing the other man's overly long hair. Winter just crossed his arms and glowered. It was very clear that he didn't want to do this, but his belly was full and he had Jack's undivided attention. That seemed to be just enough for him.

Jack trimmed Winter's hair when he was done and cuddled him in the bed. Winter burrowed right into his side. He covered his head with his hands, like he was ashamed of the choppy haircut, even though Winter was known for walking naked in front of the entire crew. If Jack had been a nastier man, he would have taken advantage of that truly impressive dick. He also would have covered Brock in kisses and not let him just recoil and run out of there. Jack nuzzled Winter. He pulled out his book and started reading aloud. Winter loved listening to Jack read. He didn't even get up when Brock wandered into the room. He was like a scared rabbit, so Jack didn't even acknowledge his presence.

Winter got very tense when Brock curled up on Jack's other side. His bright blue eyes went straight into Brock's soul, but the other man didn't even move. Jack decided that he was going to stay out of this one until they started fighting. He nuzzled the both of them and petted two sets of hair. They seemed to enjoy that and it must have worked to soothe battered egos. Jack didn't know much about Brock. He wished he could have started the conversation, but that didn't feel right when he was cuddling with his other enigma. Jack figured that he had a talent for finding screwballs and washups - Tony and Stefan had came from a flophouse and they proved to be brilliant with engines and even basic medical duties.

Very few captains would keep underage rent boys for anything but brutal, violent, possibly deadly sex.

"Why did you run away from me?" Jack whispered. He kept petting and watched as Winter dropped off to sleep. The others seemed to be watching some old Martian Western and Jack didn't want to see the gallons of cheap blood. Jack sighed and nuzzled Brock a little bit. "I'm sorry if I scared you. You know that I didn't mean to do it."

"I don't need pity," Brock whispered. His voice was hoarse, damaged. "Every time someone gave me pity, they beat me half to death. First it was the mines, then it was that flophouse..." He shuddered some, his eyes distant. "I can't stand hearing those words. I feel my back splitting open and I can smell blood."

Jack let the words die on his tongue. He had Winter curled up on him and he didn't need to have Winter bolt, too. A part of him wondered if Winter's past was anything like Brock's - he was strong, powerful, and deadly. If he wanted to get nasty, he would go down the rabbit hole that made Winter some kind of genetically engineered soldier. Like what the Andromedi had done before they were knocked back into the Stone Age. The Sci had came up with something they called 'resa' - Jack thought it roughly translated as 'slave' - and they had unleashed those wild animals on everything that moved. A resa felt no pain, knew no fear, and they only dropped dead once you blew their head off.

Jack had the scars to prove it - thick, ugly bands of scar tissue that wrapped around his back and pelvis and dipped dangerously near his soft, delicate bits.

"I didn't know." Jack looked up and tried to count the rivets in the ceiling panels. He didn't know what he wanted to do, if he wanted to test Winter's DNA. If a resa was found, he was destroyed instantly. He didn't want to risk that. Instead, he looked over and cocked his head some. "Brock, what do you think that Winter is? Have you ever seen something like him - like a resemblance to anyone?"

Brock just shrugged. "If you're asking if he's a Sci, his eyes aren't bright enough and they don't look like cat eyes. He also doesn't have fangs and he's not mean enough."

"Wait until you see him without coffee," Jack laughed. He leaned back and let the two men curl up beside him. If he added Clint, this would probably make his life perfect.

He just wasn't going to push his luck quite that far just yet.


	14. Chapter 14

Brock curled up beside Clint and stroked one of the thick, ugly bands of scars that covered his wrists. He had knots that covered the insides of both his wrists and they seemed tight, so Brock massaged the wounds and applied a little of the rose oil he had found in the galley over the wounds. Clint rested his head against Brock's shoulders. He seemed like he was half asleep and he enjoyed the gentle touches. It seemed like he was almost purring like a cat. Brock didn't even try to understand why he was purring like a little electric motor. Brock poked the man in the chest, trying to understand that he was making that sound. That wasn't the sound that a human made - that was very much the sound of a happy cat.

"Why do you sound like that?" Brock softly asked. He paused in his tender ministrations, wondering why he might be like this. He didn't want to pry too much, but he loved hearing it. Brock cocked his head some as he switched wrists. "How does it work? And how does it work if you have to do a surgery, but your hands hurt like that?"

"I purr because I'm not human," Clint quietly said. "I used to be human. Clint isn't even my name - it wasn't the name I was born with, but it was the name they gave me." He looked away and sighed softly. "I'm a resa. The Andromedi captured me from one of the far flung Terran colonies and they... they overwrote my DNA. It hurt. It hurt like _hell_. I wish I could just go back to the man I used to be, but I can't. I purr because they gave me my own little voice box so I can purr. I know Jack from his day in the STRIKE and SHIELD army. He's the one that woke me from up the drug induced haze that they had me in. I was... I was theirs. Jack took the chip out of my head and he waited for me to wake up. Without him, I would be dead."

Brock curled up and placed his head on Clint's chest so he could hear the rapid beating of his heart. It was much faster than a human heart - sharper and almost harsher than the way the human heart worked. His face was sharper, thinner, and his eyes were a brilliant blue. Too blue to be human - like he was some kind of wolf hybrid. Like there was something beautiful and wild in Clint - there was something that couldn't have been tamed, but was. Brock looked up at him with gentle dark eyes. He pressed a gentle kiss to Clint's cheek and started working his way down. He loved what he saw - the sharp angles and the beautiful way he seemed to move. Clint was like a beautiful cat and Brock thought he was the most beautiful thing in the world.

He straddled Clint's lap and pressed another series of kisses against Clint's throat. Clint growled softly. There was something wild and aggressive in his gestures and Brock could see budding claws on Clint's finger tips and he scratched lightly on Brock's back. Brock growled softly. He didn't like being roughed up and he did feel like kissing the other man. That didn't mean that he wanted to get shredded. Sleeping with aliens had never been a joy - Tygrii, for example, had barbs on their dicks and Kai were just plain _aggressive_ \- but he figured he could make an exception for this man. He liked Clint and he wanted Clint to like him, too. He pressed more kisses against Clint's chest and started trying to get his shirt off.

"You have too many buttons," Brock grumbled. He fiddled with the plain brown button down, trying to get all the buttons and ties off. "What is this style? How To Cockblock Your Partner R Us? Why do you have to wear so many fucking ties, Clint?"

"Because I like the shirts," Clint laughed. He kissed Brock softly and shucked himself out of the shirt. He made it look much easier than he thought it was, probably because he liked the soft, downy material. "You know something? You would be my first. And not just since the Andromedi fucked around with my DNA - I'm pretty sure that I've never been with anyone."

"Then I don't have to compete with some ex boyfriend," Brock teased.

Clint kissed him deeply and pushed Brock off. "I don't think I want my first time to be in a medical bay when you're supposed to be fussing over my scars. I was thinking romantic dinner, maybe flowers, and maybe some wine... something nice for me to wear and maybe a massage." He grinned and sprawled back against one of the exam beds. "I'm not exactly going to stick my dick up your ass - I don't know how mine works anymore and I don't want to cut you up or find out other things."

"Sci hurt," Brock quipped. He kissed Clint again and gripped his hands. "I think I love you, you know. You're one of the nicest, sweetest people that I know. I don't want to do anything that might hurt the both of us."

Clint just shook his head and rested close to Brock. "I like you, you know. I just... I don't want to move too fast. I've never done this before. I like Jack, too, but I don't know if I can say anything. He has Winter and Winter is pretty damn possessive of him. I don't want to wind up getting thrown into a wall like you did - I can take a hint." He smiled softly and kissed Brock's head. "Not that I think you were doing something bad, I just don't think you knew about Winter."

"I didn't." Brock kissed Clint again and stroked his hair. He loved both men, but he didn't have a chance with Jack. He had a chance with Clint. He pressed more kisses against him, licking at the sweat that pooled in the base of his throat before kneeling and looking up. "You're so beautiful, you know. I think I could look at you forever and I don't know what I would do if I had to lose you." He took Clint's hand and pressed a kiss against Clint's rough, scarred fingers. "I want you. I want you right now, but I'm willing to wait for you. I promise. Anything you want."

Clint smiled and helped him up. "I don't want you to kneel for me, Brock. Please don't."

Brock managed to get to his feet and curled up beside him. "Than how do you want me, sweetheart? What do you want?"

"I want you to love me," Clint murmured. "I don't want you right now - I just don't want to do anything right now. I... It's not the right time, okay? I love you. I love being with you, but I love Jack and I know you love Jack. Maybe we need to try and work everything out before... before we make a mess of this."

"Alright." Brock smiled and kissed Clint softly before covering the both of them in a throw blanket. "Maybe you could read to me? I think I would like that."

"Of course." Clint gave him a gentle smile and pulled out a book.

Brock bedded down in his lap and was out of it before the first chapter was finished. He slept well - there weren't any nightmares and he knew that someone cared.


	15. Chapter 15

Jack hated to do it, but he had to pull the _Hydra_ out of hyperspace and refill her tanks. He liked his old ship and he knew that she had more than her share of battle scars. She looked very military - she was all sleek lines and sharp angles and most ships weren't all blacked out. The _Hydra_ was missing even the white streaks used as camouflage. Jack had good codes and he had paid well for them, so he used them often. He just needed to keep himself safe. The crew, too. He had the _Tycho_ to worry about, but she was a big ship and her tanks could carry more fuel, along with the nuclear cores. No ship was ever purely fuel powered or pure nuclear - most ships were a mixture of the two after the United States ships had melted down well over a century ago.

Those ships hadn't been well built. They had been made for short term use only - made to go a single mission and then be scrapped. Sadly, there had been a few unscrupulous people who had salvaged the wrecked ships, given them to sellers, and those sellers didn't know about the weak components. Of course, the ships had leaked when when brand new, but it had been low level enough to not cause that much problem. The wives and husbands of the dead crews might have said other things, but they had just lost out. The ships had been sold all over the universe and most people had ran them hard and fast. Reactors had blown or melted down and thousands had died.

At least half of them had been aliens and there were entire sectors that had been abandoned because of the radiation poisoning.

Jack settled back against the scarred side of his ship. His crew appreciated the few hours to be off the ship. A good shore leave was always nice, no matter how short it was, but Brock was pretty enough that he could be snatched away. Jack rather liked the man. Brock might have been a pain in his ass, but he was a kind man. Jack pulled his blaster, stroking over the smooth metal. It was an old weapon, to be sure. It had served him well when he had been a soldier. It would serve him well here, even though he hoped that he didn't have to use it. In a way, Jack was tired of fighting. He had done too much of it when he was younger. Besides, he could always throw Winter at the problem now.

Winter walked up beside him, his blue eyes curious. Someone - Jack wasn't sure who - had combed and braided his hair. Winter looked a little bemused, but he seemed to like it. He kept reaching up to touch the strands with his non-metallic hand and made a happy, quiet sound. It was like he really did enjoy the soft, delicate braids. Jack wondered who had done it, but he knew he couldn't ask Winter. The harsh lights made Winter look fiercer than usual, highlighting the planes of his face and the muscles that were hidden under his clothes. Winter had chosen one of Jack's greatcoats and he sniffed at the worn leather every so often. He seemed peaceful, though. Like he didn't have a care in the world.

Sometimes, Jack wished he could be that happy.

"Hey, you devil," he softly said. He called Winter over, touching the fine braids. "Who did this, huh? Looks like they really took their time." Jack smiled, watching as Winter cocked his head like an overlarge dog. "Yeah, I know you don't talk. But I like the way it looks. Maybe if we keep doing this, we can keep your hair nice and long. Just the way you like it."

"Do you know what that is?"

A blonde man stepped out of the half shadows, his boots neatly avoiding the pools of grease and oil. His sharp blue eyes glittered like light sapphires and his gaze raked over Winter. Winter cowered back. He bared his teeth - something he never did unless he was getting a shot - and he stepped behind Jack. Jack stiffened some. The stranger wore very expensive clothing, all tailored to his body. He seemed oddly trim and his skin had the paleness that came from living in space. There was a spark of recognition in his eyes, though, when he saw Winter. He cocked his head, like he was going to ask something, and a flicker of fear crossed his eyes. It was very quick, but Jack still saw it.

"His name's Winter," Jack shrugged. "I found him in the dead of winter, on a scrap pile. Claiming rights lapsed five years ago. He's mine." He hated saying those words, but Winter might very well be a piece of property. There was a chip under his skin that no one could read. Jack smiled and moved his hand so the man could see his blaster. "Who might you be?"

"Call me Captain Rogers." Rogers inclined his head. "I don't want it back. It's a failed experiment and frankly I'm surprised it's still alive." He sighed and glanced over to a sleek, gleaming white craft. "I happened to notice your ship - that kind last saw action in the C'cyyaa Border Wars. I was wondering how you got it. Unless..." He glanced over at Jack, like he was inspecting some kind of purchase. Like Jack was a piece of meat and Rogers was a hungry lumbo lion. "No. That can't be right. That class was all destroyed soon after. There weren't any survivors, mostly because I ordered the destruction and I do _not_ make mistakes."

"My name is Jack," Jack softly whispered. "I don't know who you are, but if you take one step closer..."

"If you kill me, there will be more bounty hunters after your sorry ass than you could shake a stick at," Rogers replied. He gave Jack a sickly sweet smile. "You know, I've never seen a Hydra class ship before. Not in real life - they just showed up the diagrams in one of the history classes. She looks like she would handle like a real beast, but I heard that they handle better than the newer Draco classes." He turned to Winter, a wry smile crossing his face. "I know you. You look like someone I used to know, but he died a long time ago. I suppose one of the godless Sci must have found his DNA and made you. Or, failing that, they created a resa out of my lover."

"I've met a resa," Javk slowly said. He shoved aside the memories of flashing claws and bloodstained knives. "They retain their memories. Most of them, anyways. Well, he doesn't have any. He's not a resa. He's just... well, he's mine. And like I said, Winter isn't for sale."

"Even if I was, I wouldn't buy him," Rogers replied. "I want the real thing, not the fake thing cooked up by some slaver with faulty gravity plates."

"You say that and then one of those "faulty clones" married Lord Ro'kio." Jack rubbed his face. That was going to be a nightmare, but that system needed a steady hand. Danu had never been the most politically stable planet, either. Jack shrugged. "I think cloning is on the way out. It's expensive, you run out of DNA to spool, and you don't always get a good product."

Rogers just gave him a thin smile as he turned away. "I could have sworn that I've met you before, Jack. You just seemed so familiar to me and I wish I knew why."

Jack watched him go with a sick feeling in his stomach. Rogers was going to be trouble, Jack could feel it. The thing was, though, that Jack had served under that man in the Border Wars. He knew who Rogers was now. Rogers had been one of the higher ups then - a man to be feared by every fighting man. Jack had never met him, but something told him Rogers knew more than he was letting on. Jack shared his face and eyes with thousands of other men, most of them dead. He had to wonder if Rogers was going to make good on his unspoken promise.

Was he going to try and kill Jack later or did he have better things to do?

The scary thing was that Jack just did not know the answer and he had no good way of finding out. Not unless he wanted Rogers to blow his brains out.


	16. Chapter 16

Brock didn't want to leave the _Hydra_. That ship was his home and he liked it there. Brock didn't want to run the risk of getting snatched up - he knew he was still pretty, even if he wasn't as young as he once was. That meant that he had to stay on the ship and wander around until he found something better to do. The tablet was boring. The novels he had liked to read had been discontinued not long after he had been taken underground. His life had been changed and not for the better, either. Brock felt like he was safe now, like nothing was going to happen to him here. He didn't have to dance or such cock for his dinner - all he had to do was cook and do the cleaning.

It wasn't a bad life, just a little boring.

One of the other crew, maybe Tony, had left the door to the armory cracked open. Brock had heard that this was a mercenary outfit and he wanted to see the cool weapons the men had to have. Maybe they had laser guns or flame throwers or anything just like that - maybe they even had grenade launchers. Brock had a list of people that he wanted to turn those weapons on. Brock liked to think that he was good at fighting, even if he had never been a pit fighter. All he had was his own wits and the wide variety of objects that could become a knife. Brock was hoping that these weapons weren't micro chipped and he could lift something. Maybe just a small dagger or a little hold out blaster - nothing too big and fancy.

Brock grinned when he looked at the vast and glittering array of weaponry around him. He picked up a heavy blaster, admiring the smooth lines and the way it balanced in his hands. This one was a serious piece of work - all heavy chrome, with an empty plasma clip, and a serious trigger. There was a line of laser rifles charging on the wall. These were heavy, awful looking things with long barrels and crystal focusing gems. He could see the computer aiming system, the clips, and everything those beauties would need to rain fire and death out of the sky. The rock crystal focus allowed the laser to go slower and actually penetrate the target instead of just burn it or skitter right off.

He found plasma grenades and something that looked like a gas shell. The _Hydra_ didn't have the carrying capacity for one of the big laser cannons. Brock could know if she did - he had cleaned every single inch of the thing and he knew her like he knew the back of his hands. He wished she could have carried one of the big laser cannons. They had used a sort of cannon to put holes in particularly dense rock and he figured that such a thing would work well with a ship's metal hide. Brock touched the weapons that he did see, his eyes wide. They were all so beautiful. He wanted to learn how to use them, but he picked up one of the smaller knives. He could hide it, use it to defend himself if everything went to hell.

Clint walked into the armory and blinked. "Brock? Are you supposed to be in here?"

"Probably not." Brock palmed the knife and slid it into his sleeve. The dagger was sheathed. He didn't think it would cut him. "Are you going to tell on me, big guy?" He grinned and traced the other man's face and just smiled at him. "I think... I think I can give you a good reason to not tell. Curiosity doesn't have to kill the cat, you know, and tomcat doesn't want to meet his maker just yet..."

Clint laughed and kissed his head. "I'm not going to tell on you, Brock. I promise." He smiled and pulled Brock close, stroking through his black hair. "Have you been spiking it up or something like that?"

Brock smiled softly. "I have! And I think that you're the only one that's noticed, you know that."

The other man laughed softly and kissed Brock again. He was gentle and kind, like the warm summer rains that Brock only half remembered. He remembered leaving the mines as a child a few times, mostly to sort the ore. Wild flowers had grown wild and strong around the rusting and decaying equipment. Brock had thought that it had been the most beautiful thing in the world. He looked up to Clint with that same wonder in his eyes. He wished he could put a flower in the man's blonde hair or give him his hearing back. That would have been almost magical, he thought. To give the other man the one thing that had been taken away from him. Brock kissed Clint softly, almost chastely, and he just pressed himself close to Clint.

"I think you and Jack are the only men I've ever loved." Clint pressed Brock against the metal wall and kissed a trail of butterfly like kisses down his neck. Clint smiled softly when Brock quietly moaned. "I want to do the right thing by you both, Brock. And I don't think that means kissing you against the armory wall, no matter how much I might want too."

"Then take me to your rooms," Brock whispered. "I want you so bad, Clint. I want you and Jack and me, all of us together, but I think that has to start somewhere." He pressed another trail of kisses down Clint's chest and played with his shirt. " _Please_ , Clint. I'm not gonna freak out on you, I _promise_. I just wanna feel good, Clint, and I have a hard time with just my own right hand..."

Clint kissed him again and held him close. His hands were rough and Brock liked that. He just wanted to press close to the man, to have someone who wanted him, and he wanted that now. He kissed the other man deeper. Clint wrapped his arms around Brock and they stayed that way for a few long minutes. Everything was perfect. Brock never wanted to change any of this. He just wanted to be touched and held by the man he loved. Brock kissed him deeper, exploring Clint's mouth and only drawing back when he was out of breath. Clint lowered his head a little and gave him a sweet kiss on the nose. It was almost sweet, given how gentle this was and what they had been doing, but Brock loved it.

He just felt _safe_ and _wanted_. That, in and of itself, was a small miracle.

"I think we need to go back to my quarters," Clint whispered. He smiled softly, his eyes gentle and warm. "Please... come back with me to my quarters? I really do hate to sleep alone and I think you'll do better than a..." He blushed some. "I've been known to sleep with a stuffed animal. I have nightmares..."

"That's fine," Brock whispered. "You know I don't judge anyone."

He didn't. He never did and he just wanted to be close to at least one of the men he loved. Surely that was allowed, right? At this point, though, Brock didn't care about the rules. He just squeezed Clint's hands and smiled. This, at least, was a little piece of heaven.


	17. Chapter 17

Jack really hadn't thought that Rogers would come back and start a fight. He _really_ didn't think that would have happened - he would have pegged Rogers as being smart enough to back off. It was clear that Winter meant something to him. What, Jack wasn't sure. But he knew that Winter was important and Rogers didn't seem to be the type that let things drop. Jack pulled the blaster close to him and gestured to Tony and Stefan. Winter hung back at his shoulder, his dark blue eyes curious. He seemed to know who the blonde man was, but he didn't want to go running over there and give the man a kiss. Jack didn't blame him. Anyone willing to jump someone in a cantina was crazy, stupid, or both.

Jack was betting on the last bit.

"Rogers!" he barked. "I'm not looking for a fight, but I'm not gonna take anything lying down! Either you back off and deal with your pet gorillas with you, or I'll sink a bolt right between your eyes. You got me?!"

Rogers, who had taken cover behind a pile of shipping crates, laughed harshly. "You seriously think that your little band of mercenaries and ne'er-do-wells is going to take me out? I've been in more fights than you have!" He paused, probably realizing that splintered wood and plastic weren't going to shield him from a hail of burning hot plasma. "I just want what's mine, Jack. I lost it once before because I was careless. You know how it is - you don't know what you have until you drop it in the gutter or some worthless platitude like that."

Jack swore under his breath and gestured for Stefan to flank the enemy. He didn't like how this was going. Winter looked like he was going to space out and the rest of the cantina had fallen silent. Fights in space port dives like this weren't uncommon - you had a pack of dirty, ragged men and then you had the locals looking to steal from them. Tempers were going to flare. This dirty little cantina - and it _was_ dirty - had certainly seen more than its share of fights. The floors were stained with oil, plasma, and blood and the walls looked like they had been burned a thousand times over. The LED screens, used for placing orders and making calls, were battered, cracked, and scratched. This little shoot-out probably wasn't the first one this week. If anything, the waitstaff looked bored and a cleaning droid bumbled around on the stained and scratched floor.

Stefan gritted his teeth, his salt and pepper hair streaked back. "This doesn't look good, Cap'n. This looks really, _really_ fucking bad." He gestured with his battered blaster, pointing to the other patrons. "They've all fucked off and I don't know if they're going to come out and help us. Is this Rogers some sort of mafia guy? Because if he is... Jack, they're gonna chase us from Hell to Andromeda."

"Isn't that the same place?" Tony joked. He pulled an overturned table close to himself and narrowed his dark eyes. "So. I think I've got a bead on Goon Numero Uno and I think the rest of y'all can take out numbers two through six. Jack, that leaves you with the big bad. I think you can do that, yeah?" He swore under his breath and gestured for Winter to come over to him. "Hey, Winter? Think you can come over here for a minute? That real mean looking blonde guy seems to like you and not in a friendly way."

Jack rolled his eyes. He pulled the blaster up, watching the other men through the scope. The wiser thing to do would be to back off and take a graceful exit through the back door. Of course, knowing Rogers, he would probably take that as a sign of cowardice. Jack licked his lips nervously. He hated getting into these little standoffs. They never did end well and this one was giving him a bad feeling. Hopefully, Rogers didn't know what he was. More than enough of Jack's batch brothers had died on worlds like Mars or Venus or even far flung reaches of the universe like Jonahkasakay or Redline. Plenty of his lot had died in Andromeda, too. All for a despot who was murdered less than a month later by his niece.

Rogers made the first move. The man moved like a cat, smoothly grabbing his blaster and sinking a bolt in the cinder block wall. Jack jolted forwards, sinking bolt after bolt into the wall of tables. One of the men cried out and burnt blood sprayed out behind him. Rogers leaped forwards, pulling a second blaster and sending bolts all over the place. Jack stood up and started shooting. Rogers' bolts went far and wide, striking the bricks and the floor rather than the men. Jack sunk a bolt in his chest and dropped the man. He lunged forwards, pulling out a knife and cutting one of the men. The man yelled, his green eyes wild with pain. He grabbed for Jack, his own blaster clattering to the ground. Jack shot him in the head and stepped over the body.

Rogers slowly picked himself up from the floor, looking at the slowly sealing wound in his chest. "Well then. That's something that hasn't happened since I went to Ahnimah III."

"You're enhanced." Jack set his jaw. "I thought that was illegal or something."

Rogers gave him a bitter smile as he looked over towards Winter. "I might have lied to you about the resa bit. You see, we bought the technology from Andromeda nearly a hundred years ago. They, of course, perfected it and they now export the technology - albeit in a limited form - to the rest of the galaxy. I convinced my friend James Buchanan Barnes to take the treatments with me." He shrugged and picked up the blaster. "There's a reason why he lost the arm. It worked with me. He wound up with Mera and there was nothing I could do."

"You loved him," Jack guessed. He circled the man, holding his own blaster up and at the ready. "People don't do things like that unless they love each other. You loved him and you let some idiots hurt him. Why? You wanted glory? You wanted someone to name a planet after you? Like those revisionists did with that Rittenhouse idiot a hundred years ago?"

"I wanted to do the right thing." Rogers backed up and shook his head. "Look at where it got me. I'm exiled. Everything I did - they took it away from me. I lost my lover and when I found him again..." He trailed off, his gaze distant. "I found him with people like you."

"Tough." Jack shot him again and watched as he collapsed. He turned to the others and gestured for them to come on. "Let's get out of here before he wakes up? I'd like to come back once in awhile!"


	18. Chapter 18

Brock curled up close to Clint, stroking through his soft, blonde hair. He didn't know how to explain what he was feeling and he knew he would never have the words for it. It was so different from life in the mines. Life had been brutal and short. The strong had taken from the weak, leaving them to choke on the coal dust and the bitter tears of their misery. Life in the whore house might have been prettier, but it was a false sense of beauty. The cheap silks and the pretty paint masked a life that was, quite literally, hell. Brock had lost so much of his life in those awful places and now he didn't know what he was he was going to do. He was free from those black holes, but he didn't know the first thing about his new life.

Maybe he was tired. Maybe he just wanted to cry and curl up. Maybe he needed to curl and die. He figured the couch was tall enough for him to not be noticed until his rotting carcass started stinking.

Clint pressed a kiss against his cheek. They hadn't done anything but touch each other and kiss, but it felt so intimate. So much more intimate than what he was used too. He wanted nothing more than to have this forever. Clint had taken him back to his quarters and it was an explosion of color. Clint had hung old tapestries up on the walls and he had changed the light fixture for something made of woven brass and glowing crystal. There were all sorts of little things on the shelves - carved onyx, painted wood, things made from all sorts of beautiful materials, and carved shells. There was so much purple silk that Brock thought he had stepped into an Imperial suite for a second.

"I think I could love you," Clint murmured. He stroked Brock's face and propped himself up on one elbow. The bed was huge - plush and dense with all sorts of blankets and fake fur throws. Clint smiled when he watched Brock play with the dense, thick furs. "You like that, yeah? I found it on a wrecked old ship and it was left to rot when the owners got something better. I restored it, made it something better."

Brock smiled. There really wasn't that much he could say about that. Maybe he wanted to be something better than what he had had before. He didn't want to be thought of as a washed up, well used whore or a mining slave. He wanted to be thought of as a beautiful thing, valuable, something that had been worth a lot for a long time. He kissed Clint's cheek and watched as the man squirmed and blushed a little. He liked doing this - he liked being able to control a little bit of something for another person. Brock squeezed Clint's hands again and then he slid out of the bed. He needed something to eat. His body had gotten used to not having enough food and now that he had the food, he just wanted that more than anything.

"Do you want a snack?" Brock quietly asked. He pulled on his shirt and combed through his tousled black hair. "I could really use some cookies right now. Or maybe we could make something really nice. What about chicken? Or maybe a little of that leftover pork loin?"

Clint laughed and shook his head. There was something kind in his smile, something that Brock was so hungry for. He wanted to rip that kindness out of the other man and smear it over his wounds like it was some kind of healing balm. Brock wanted to take whatever it was that made Clint and Jack so kind to him and horde it all in his heart. The selfish, wounded part of him wanted to keep those two with him forever, even if he had to do something awful to keep them that way. Brock had never known such kindness, had never known it was possible in the cold, hard galaxy that he was used too. He was used to screaming steel and cold darkness, to strange music and exotic dances, not kindness and gentle kisses.

The steel was cold under his bare feet and the _Hydra_ seemed to hum around him. She was a wondrous thing, all cold steel and beautiful blue lights. She was a high performance machine. Brock had cleaned every inch of her, so he knew all of her hidden gun placements and the little booby traps that had been placed all over her. He loved this ship. He wanted to hold her in his little harem and never let her go, too. Brock wanted to kick the rest of the crew off, even Peter, and hide her away on some forgotten asteroid. He figured he had enough food hidden under his bunk to keep himself fed for awhile and he could always rework the hydroponics section if he needed too.

Clint cocked his head as he sat on the worn wooden table. "You look crazy, Brock."

Brock looked at his shaking hands and swallowed. "This is the best thing I've ever had," he whispered. "I don't wanna lose it. I don't want someone to take you away from me. I'll - I'll kill them! Or I'll kill myself!"

"Brock." Clint slid off and tried to touch him. Brock threw him off, so the man backed up and held up his hands. " _Brock_. You can't say things like that! And you can't... you can't treat me like that. I'm a person, just like you. I demand to be treated like that. I'm not going to let you act like some kind of rabid dog because you can't trust me!"

"I can't trust _anyone_ ," Brock whispered. He pressed himself against the stove, his eyes wide and scared. "I can't trust anyone but you. Maybe Jack, but I don't know if I can trust him."

"Let me help you." Clint held up his hands and swallowed. "It's okay, I know you're scared. I know we haven't been kind to you - "

"Don't fucking touch me!" Brock screamed. He reared back his hand and struck the man. For a horrible second, he saw the only other man he had ever trusted. The man who had betrayed him. "Don't touch me, Kileo! Don't you touch me every again, you rat bastard! I know who you are - I know what they'll do to me! You can't trick me again!"

He sank down to the floor, holding his head and shaking. He was beautiful. He _wanted_ to be beautiful. Brock sunk his teeth into the flesh of his arm, holding it there as the blood welled up and filled his mouth. Brock wanted the pain. He needed the pain. He needed something to ground him. He rocked there and screamed, trying to drown out the demons in his head. He could see Kileo, laughing at him and trying to get him to escape again. He barely knew Clint. He didn't know if Clint was going to report back to Jack that he was bad. Brock was almost deaf and blind to the people around him. He was barely even aware that he was crying abd screaming out his pain.

Someone sedated him and he collapsed. It was a mercy, he supposed.

A mercy that he was put out of their collective misery.


	19. Chapter 19

Jack didn't often do this, but he wanted to get a good look at Winter. He wanted to see if there was some kind of weird chip buried deep in Winter's body. He wasn't quite sure just how traceable Andromedi technology _was_. They used a system that was almost completely opposite of what the humans used - it was based on carbon and tungsten rather than carbon and silicon. That made tracing the technology harder than it needed to be and Jack didn't even know if he had a scanner that could pick up that thing up. Some of the techs from his Army days had referred to the Andromedi things as "sleeper" technology - it slept until it could explode in your face. Sometimes, as Jack had found, it quite literally did explode.

He just hoped that Winter didn't have such a nasty surprise buried in him.

Winter cocked his head as he sat down on the bed. He looked like he was afraid, but he was still trusted Jack enough to sit there. Jack quietly wondered where Clint was, as he usually didn't leave the medical bay alone like this. Clint hated it when people played with his supplies and moved his scanners. Jack mentally prepared himself for the coming tirade as he rooted around for the most sensitive scanner.

He had a feeling that it was a modified version of Andromedi chip work that he was looking for. Hopefully, that meant he was looking at silicon set in an Andromedi format rather than tungsten or even some bizarre metal that only the Sci would use. Jack set his jaw as he turned the scanner on. He didn't even know if he could read the damn thing once it was found - if the coding was in Akiran and based on pi rather than binary, then all he had was a fancy piece of God-knows-what and a pissed off medic on his hands. Of course, that was assuming that whoever made Winter had put a chip inside him. Common mutt soldiers like Jack hadn't been chipped - he wouldn't have a family to mourn him if he died and besides, mutts weren't supposed to have feelings anyways.

Winter whined softly as Jack started running the scanner. "No. Don't - don't like it. Don't want this."

"I'm sorry," Jack quietly said. He pressed a kiss against the man's shoulder blades before he looked back at the scanner. "I just want to see if there's a chip in you, sweetheart. If there is one, I might be able to help you out."

Winter still didn't like it, but he at least sat still. He whined every so often, glancing back at Jack as the scanner did its thing. Jack still wondered where Clint was. It wasn't like him to just wander off and not watch over his medical bay. He hoped that meant Clint was enjoying sexy fun times with Brock. That reminded Jack - he probably needed to pull Brock aside and tell him that he was going to rescind that order about sexual activity. Beyond that one time, Brock just hadn't been interested. Besides, he made Clint happy and a happy medic meant a happy crew. If that meant that Jack had to put up with Brock running around, he was willing to do that.

He didn't like to admit it, but he liked Clint. Jack knew that was dangerous - if he fell in love with his crew, he might do something stupid to save them instead of backing off like he should have.

Stefan poked his head in, his face grim. "While I enjoyed our quick Sabbatical, Brock didn't take it so well. Clint had to sedate him and I don't think that he's taking it that well."

Jack put the scanner down. He could fight with that later - the device needed time to chew on the chip it had cloned from Winter's good shoulder. He tossed Winter's shirt back at the man as he followed Stefan back to the crew quarters. Clint didn't spend a lot of time in his actual quarters. He preferred the cot in the back of the medical bay and he had covered the place in all sorts of little trinkets and knickknacks that he had collected over the years. Jack wondered how they had wound up in the back section of the ship. Clint didn't like it, so Jack had to think that they had gone back there for Brock. Of course, if Jack was keeping count, this was going to be the second time Brock freaked out.

Clint looked up as Jack slipped into Brock's quarters. "I... he called me another name. We weren't doing anything, I swear, he just looked at me like I was the devil Murphy and started screaming."

"He needs therapy," Stefan quietly suggested. "Tony needed it. It's not a bad thing, Cap'n. He just needs a little help."

Jack nodded absently. He knelt beside the low bed, noting that Brock had found a few old blankets and traded for some softer pillows. It was pitiful how little he had - he had been with the _Hydra_ for nearly two months now and he had none of the little effects that the others had. Even Winter had plushies and artwork on the walls. Brock just had the drab grey-green walls that came standard with the ship. It was honestly very depressing. Jack, of course, favored black and gold and plush blankets. He had been told that his room looked like a palace bedroom instead of the quiet space that a ship usually had. Jack didn't care. Blankets and food were the only things he splurged on.

Brock woke after a minute, his dark eyes fluttering open. "Mmmm... hey..."

"Hay is for horses," Jack quietly teased. He pressed a quick kiss against Brock's head and drew back before giving Clint an apologetic look. "I apologize, Clint. I... I shouldn't have done that."

"Kiss me too, you big dolt," Clint muttered. He grinned and pressed a chaste kiss against Jack's cheek. "Brock, how are you feeling? Are you thirsty? Do you need a little water or maybe a snack?" He paused and his face fell a little bit. "I'm sorry for sedating you, but I didn't know what else to do. You were panicking and... and I didn't want to hurt you. Or for you to hurt yourself."

Brock shook his head and wobbled into Clint's arms. "I... I'm sorry," he whispered. "I don't know anything about it. It happens. I get scared like this and they beat me and I... I was afraid you were gonna beat me, too."

"You're a free man now," Jack finally said. "We don't beat free men."

_No matter how obnoxious and pretty they are._

Brock shook his head and curled up beside the other man. Clint climbed in the bed beside, petting his hair. Jack left them both alone. He needed to get back to Winter and his scanner anyways. Jack walked quietly through the rest of the ship, his eyes dark. He hated what had been done to Brock. Someone had taken what was once a functioning human being and turned him into a flighty thing that had panic attacks. Still, though, Jack had never thought that he would fall for two members of his own crew. He had also never thought that his gentle giant was going to have a resa-like chip buried in his shoulder. Jack smiled softly as he walked back into the medical bay.

"Winter?" Jack called. He had always learned to let Winter know he was coming - Winter had sent someone through the wall for a similar offense. Jack turned around, making sure that he got a good look at the other man. "Winter!"

Winter held up the scanner and cocked his head. "I read... it. It read me..."

Jack picked up the tablet and cursed when he saw the words scroll across. This was bad. _Very_ bad. Jack had the feeling that Rogers was going to come back, if only to recover the sordid details that he was looking at now.


	20. Chapter 20

Brock didn't want the other ones to see him when he was this fragile. He had been hurt before, he had been tortured and broken when he was fragile like this, and he had to protect himself first of all. Sex was off the table. He was willing to try to make things work with Clint and he had a working knowledge of all things that didn't require penetration, but he didn't need to freak out again. If Brock was going to be honest, he didn't trust his brain. If he understood what Clint said correctly, he was sick up there. That didn't mean he was bad or anything like that, it just meant that his brain was a little bit ill and he needed a little bit of care until he could get better.

Brock liked to think that he wasn't broken, even though he knew that he was. He had been sold to the whorehouse after he had struck a few of the other slaves and decked one of the guards good enough to break his nose. They had tried to break him like everyone else had, but it was going to be his stupid brain that won the fight. He wanted to scream, but there was nothing he could do about it. He just had to tough it out and maybe watch the movie that was playing across the screens right now. Clint had bundled him up with a blanket and a stuffed fox and Brock clung to the thing like it was the only thing in the galaxy that could save him. The fur was soft and silky and he loved the way it worked between his fingers.

Jack glanced up at him and smiled softly. "He looks cute like that, Clint. How exactly did you find that thing?"

"I won it in an arcade," Clint replied. He curled up beside Brock and stroked his head gently. Brock liked the touch and he liked that he could just curl up beside Clint. The man didn't hurt him and he didn't try to fuck him. Clint brushed a kiss against Brock's cheek. "I think he likes it, don't you? I actually have another one if you want to give something to Winter." He turned back to Brock and stroked his face. "I want to try body work with you later on. Maybe even reiki."

Brock cuddled him close and nuzzled him. "What's reiki?"

"I'll show you." Clint helped him up and made sure to nestle the fox in a safe place. "I'll make sure that Winter doesn't get it, alright? Jack, I think it would help if you came. I might need your big hands. We want him to feel right now, not be overwhelmed, and I think you can help with the massage aspects of things." He flashed a bright smile. "Tony, make sure that Winter doesn't get the plushie. There's a dog one somewhere under my bed - it's just as soft and I think Winter will take that one over the fox."

Brock wasn't too thrilled about leaving his fox, even though he knew that Winter most likely wasn't going to take it, but he followed Jack and Clint. The only body work he knew involved sex, but he got the feeling that wasn't what Clint wanted to do. Clint managed to get Jack's dark bedding pulled off. He came up with a bottle of warming oil and helped Brock strip off his shirt and pants. Brock slowly lowered down before looking up at them with slightly fearful eyes. Clint just kissed him gently and helped him roll over on his back. Clint touched his bare skin and Brock had never felt so vulnerable in his life. He tried not to flinch as the oil spread across his back and he actually groaned when Jack started to massage the oil into his skin.

For all the advanced technology in the universe, people were still going back to massage and some sort of laying of hands. Brock let himself be lulled into a sense of security, basking in the warmth and the touch. Clint moved his hands a little and when he brushed over Brock's head, Brock felt his scalp prickle. He felt a little vulnerable, but it was a good kind of vulnerable. The oil warmed his muscles up, making him feel more than a little drowsy, and he was the most relaxed than he had ever been. Jack was digging for old inflammation, working muscles that had been tortured in the mines and hurt more when Brock was a whore. Brock was used to being in pain. He didn't quite know what he would do if he wasn't hurting all the time.

Clint kissed the base of his neck and smiled softly. "I think he's just about asleep."

"Is that a good thing?" Jack slowly asked. He paused and glanced back to Clint. "I don't want to hurt either of you, you know. I'm not... I don't think I enjoy sexual things like you do. I don't think I would mind watching, but I don't want to actually _do_ anything, if you understand that, not unless I'm really in the mood or it's just the right two people. I love you, both of you, and I don't know what I would do if I hurt the both of you because you want something that I can't give."

Clint dried Brock off and nestled him into the bed before sprawling out beside him. "I mean, I'm an adult virgin. I don't think any of us are going to say anything about your sexual hangups, just as long as it's all consensual."

Brock curled up in his lap and took his fox back after a second. He didn't care what was going on right now - he just wanted to cuddle and stay safe with the two men that he loved. He was warm, he was safe, and he didn't ache. What more could he want? Maybe he would like being trusted to go on missions, but he didn't blame Jack for not trusting him with a blaster. He was crazy, after all. He could just enjoy being warm right now and feeling like he was actually cared about. He loved how warm and nice it felt right now. Brock didn't think he had ever felt this safe before - safe enough to let something catch the light. It was just a battered necklace, made of chipped jade, carved in the shape of a dolphin.

He didn't know what it meant, just that it was his and he never let it go away.


	21. Chapter 21

Jack settled into the captain's chair, propping his boots up on the control panel. This was something that he would get on to anyone else if they tried it, but he was the captain and he was allowed to do things like that. Jack pulled his hood over his face as he settled into the plush leather. He fully intended to take a long nap, but that was not to be. Jack had just settled down for a nap when the proximity alarm started blaring. Normally, he ignored alarms like this. There were floating bits of proto-matter in the hyperlanes - it was generated by the same cosmic forces that made faster than light travel possible - but the shields usually deflected that right off. The siren problem had been dealt with thanks to several thousand strategically placed warming stations and birth control laced meat.

That meant there was one of two things that could be happening. Either one of the generators had failed and the _Hydra_ didn't know she was dead yet or someone was trying to drag them out of hyperspace with a heavy tractor beam. Jack was willing to bet it was the latter. The radiation alarm would be screaming if the core generators had sprung a leak.

He scrambled out of the chair and pressed the intercom button. "All hands, this is Captain Rollins. We're about to encounter a potential hostile threat. I repeat, we're about to encounter a hostile threat. Get to your battle stations, please. Arm the port and starb'rd cannons and key the deflection shields to allow bursts from us, but to reject anything that doesn't have our signature."

Bodhi jogged into the room, his face grim. "Roger, Captain. Any idea who this is?"

"Negative," Jack lied. He had an idea. "I sent the _Tycho_ a ping. There's a secure port about three hours ahead of us and they should be able to make it if they run dark. The captain's a good woman. They'll make it." He set his jaw, activating the control yoke before giving the chain a few experimental tugs. "Some days I hate the fact that we're chain driven, but some of the newer pirates are hacking into the ship's computers now. Shetani Taka is pretty famous for that little stunt and I'm glad that she can't do it with us."

"You think it's Taka?" Bodhi pulled up a glowing control screen, flipping through the various options. "They've got us in an ion snare. Looks like the lanes are weaker there, that's how they were able to do it. I don't know who's running that bird, but my scan tells me that she's a caravel class, possibly Andromedi, and running red hot. Looks like one of her aft and port external reactors has a slight leak. It's throwing her signature from here to kingdom come." Bodhi narrowed his eyes, reading over the other panels. "She hasn't sent us a list of demands. Ten bucks says she was looking for a fat merchant ship, the _Tycho_ tripped the snare beam, and we blundered right into the trap."

"Which would confuse the computers and make them release the _Tycho_ ," Jack murmured. He leaned down, pulling up his rail guns. "I fucking hate caravels. Who wants to bet that her hide is three inches of reinforced meteoric steel and we're not going to make a scratch on her?"

"We have the same." Bodhi touched his shoulder, a gesture that was held over from their time in the army. "I helped you steal this bird, remember? I know more about her guts than the man who made her." Bodhi fired a test shot. It seemed to skitter off the other ship's shields, but the caravel wobbled when another shot struck near the leak. "Well, Jack, it looks like their little bit of laziness is going to be our stroke of luck. I think the radiation leak has chewed a hole through her shields. If we claw at that enough, she's going to be forced to choose between holding us or saving her own skin. And you know pirates - they have a time honored tradition of running away!"

Jack didn't think these were pirates. The radiation leak reminded him of a battle wound on an active ship. It wasn't something that was going to cripple the caravel, but it would make her life harder. What likely happen was one of the rivets popped loose or a panel was damaged from a flyby. Jack was, unfortunately, very familiar with Andromedi technology. They had three classes of small, personal fighters - he knew them as needlenoses, mice, and kellys. Kellys were thin and angular enough to go through most shields and most ships didn't have guns that pointed _at_ the home ship. It was a safety issue, as massive bolts of plasma and energy could destroy most everything in their path. Jack was pretty sure that caravel had tangled with a kelly - the damage pattern looked roughly the same.

As far as he knew, Rogers was stationed on an active ship. Jack was pretty sure that Rogers was on a ship that was posted near the Andromedi - Milky Way border. He had the look of a man who had been tangling with the Sci and probably the resa, too. Jack didn't know how Rogers had access to the manifests of active ships, but he did. He swore under his breath as he tried to roll the ship a little bit. The snare held them fast, but it didn't mean they couldn't inflict some damage. He smiled and brought the big port guns online. He pressed a button beside him, altering the others on the line that those were ready. Seconds later, the _Hydra_ started shaking with the telltale recoil that came from the big guns firing.

He activated his own rail guns, aiming them at the bridge. Jack knew that this likely wouldn't go through the metal, but he was just going to remind Rogers that he was there and very much alive.


	22. Chapter 22

Brock had the feeling that he wasn't supposed to be there. He didn't know why the ship had been jerked out of hyperspace - Brock honestly didn't know how these things worked - but he did know that there was danger. Stefan cornered him outside of Clint's room and jammed a heavy blaster in his hands before dashing down the hall. Brock stared at it. He'd only seen weapons like this before, but never handled one. Brock knew which one was the trigger was and he knew that the green light meant that it was charged and he knew which end was the business end. That was about it. Brock looked at the sleek, black weapon, trying to understand what he was supposed to be doing.

He took guard duty beside the heavy airlock door. Brock felt the _Hydra_ rattle as something punched her hide. The amount he knew about heavy ships could fit the pages of a slender journal, but he figured that something hitting the side of a big ship wasn't good for it. He braced himself, watching as the lights flashed red or green. He thought that one of the read outs on the wall was for outer space radiation, but he wasn't sure. Whatever was happening, though, likely wasn't good. There was a big, glowing red spot in the middle of the gas screen. Maybe that meant there was a leak on the other ship or that she just had some kind of tracer on her. Mining ships used ion tracers. Maybe fighting ships used that, too.

Something rumbled outside the airlock. Brock held the rifle a little bit closer and he pressed the warning button. Something screamed right above him and a flashing light filled the hall. He heard someone bark a command, but nothing prepared him for the way the heavy airlock door seemed to melt inwards. He scrambled back towards the hall, watching in horror as the hole grew larger and larger. Behind him, he could hear the others coming. Brock didn't know what he was supposed to be doing, especially in case of a boarding, but he was just one man. He could hear the others coming. Brock realized that he knew next to nothing about armor or even the type of weapon that could be used to chew a hole in solid steel.

Winter shoved him aside. He snarled, his eyes wild, and he grabbed at the first man who shoved his way through the softened metal. He didn't seem to blink as the white hot metal burned his flesh hand or the way the skin seemed to knit over the wound almost instantly. He snapped the man's neck through his shiny silver armor and tossed his body back at the others. Brock took up beside him, figuring out how to use the heavy trigger quickly as he sent the first bolt he'd ever fired deep into the man's shoulder. He stumbled, grunting through the armor. The _Hydra_ suddenly rolled, tossing everyone to the side and bashing the attackers against the hot metal. Someone screamed and the air reeked of molten metal.

"Fall back!" Stefan grabbed Brock's shoulder, his eyes dark. "Get him out of here! He has no business being in an active firefight!"

Brock shoved Stefan back and pushed him against the wall. "You're the genius who gave me a gun. Let me prove myself!" He glared at the man, gesturing with the blaster. "I'm not just the janitor, okay?!"

"I know you're not," a new voice purred. A blonde man pushed his way out of the airlock cover. He pulled his helmet off, revealing sweaty blonde hair. "I helped make you. Unfortunately, you were just as much a failure as Barnes was." The man made a face and tried to grab at Brock. He laughed when Brock gestured at him with the heavy blaster. "You always were a fighter, Rumlow. Then as now."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Brock hissed. "I don't even know who you _are_.

"I made you." The man walked through the fire fight like he owned the _Hydra_ , his eyes as clear and blue as the new ice. He smiled coldly, yanking the blaster away and tossing it to the ground. "You don't remember me? You don't remember how you clawed your way out of the streets, how you made yourself Alexander Pierce's right hand man? You don't remember how you volunteered for the same procedure that wiped Barnes?" He shook his head and kissed Brock's unresponsive lips. "I visited you, you know. You never did recognize me."

"You're lying," Brock whispered. His voice sounded hollow to even his own ears and he covered the chipped necklace just to make sure. "You're lying to me! You have to be. I don't know you - I'm just Brock. Just... just a whore that used to be a mining slave. I'm _nothing_." Brock shook his head, his eyes wide. Dimly, he could hear someone yelling and he thought that Winter killed someone else, but all he could do was focus on the man who was looking at him right now. "I don't know what you want from me."

"You." The man smiled coldly, but there was longing in his blue eyes. He stroked Brock's face, his thumb finding an old scar. "Barnes is a lost cause if you haven't realized. Let the tank-bred have his own little fantasy. But you? You belong at my side."

Brock looked at his face and he touched the patterned armor with trembling hands. He knew this armor - it was the stars and bars, a motif that had been plastered all over the galaxy with the American Empire. Brock shook his head. He _knew_ that armor. He had cleaned that armor, buffed off the dents and scratches, helped the man standing above him. Brock had always known that he was small and lithe, but he had never been more aware of it than now. He just stared at the man, trying to place his face. Brock rolled names around in his mouth. The man wasn't Andromedi - he wasn't dusky and feral, he was as pale and cold as an ice moon - so that meant that he could be anyone.

"Steve?" Brock whispered. He slumped against the wall, his brain throbbing. "Steve? What - what happened?"

"I killed the man who made me get rid of you," Steve replied. He pulled Brock close to him, shaking his head sadly. "You're so thin. Haven't they been feeding you here? I would have thought that a tank-bred would feed his crew better."

"Don't call him that," Brock murmured. He looked down. It felt like his mind was caught between two whirlwinds and he was far away from the raging battle around them. "His name is Jack. I like him - so please use his name." He hugged himself, trying to capture more of the vapors flying through his mind. "It's hard to eat when there's all sorts of demons inside your head."

Steve smiled sadly and took his hand. "We can make you forget, don't worry. I'm sure they made you forget before."

When Steve pulled Brock towards the half ruined airlock, he didn't protest. Brock had to know where he came from, even if it killed him.


	23. Chapter 23

Jack swore when he realized there were intruders on the _Hydra_. That meant that he wasn't dealing with pirates - pirates usually tried to break the ship wide open and vent the crew. Jack was pretty sure that this was a trained crew. That meant that the invaders were going to be heading for the bridge to try and crack it. He yelled, scrambling out of the bridge. Bodhi looked at him like he was crazy. Jack managed to seal the bridge off before something cracked and the _Hydra_ seemed to rattle down to her very bones. Jack swore under his breath. He rushed down the halls, wishing that he had a chance to get his armor. He grabbed one of the long rifles and checked the battery levels.

"What's going on?!" Bodhi yelped. "We need the bridge, you idiot! How else are we going to be able to move the ship!"

"We've been boarded." Jack set his jaw and pulled up a personnel scanner. "I don't see Brock, though I count about ten bougies. Makes me wonder what they're planning. I doubt they could fly this bird."

"You don't have to fly a ship to strip her down to the bones," Bodhi argued. He grabbed a pistol from the rack and swore under his breath. "I knew I should have cleaned this place out, Jackie, I just _knew_ that something like this was going to happen!"

"If we were being attacked by pirates, they would have been trying to crack us wide open," Jack replied. "Not that I think they _could_ get through our hide - thank the gods for meteoric steel - but they would be trying it. No idea what they're trying." He cursed under his breath when he realized that Winter wasn't beside him. He bit his bottom lip. "Check that. I'm pretty sure why they're here. I think someone wants Winter back."

"They want _Winter_?!" Bodhi yelped. "Do they know how crazy he is?!"

Jack didn't answer that. He bit his bottom lip as he slipped out of the armory. He sealed the door behind him. Anyone with a chip would be able to open it, but it would keep the attackers out of his weapons. He stalked through the shaking ship, wincing when he heard gunfire. That was his ship that was being shredded. Jack smelled the raw stench of burnt blood and heard the pop that came from burning wires. He held up his fist, signalling to Bodhi, as he rounded the corner. He could see two of the bad guys right around the corner. Jack pulled the rifle up. He hated putting holes in his ship, but there was no way for him to avoid it. He knew the weaknesses of that armor. He'd worn it for years, after all.

The joint between the shoulder and the headpiece had to be as thin as paper so the soldiers could turn their heads. Jack was pretty sure that a low powered bolt could go right through that paper. If it didn't pierce the metal, it would melt and cause someone a lot of pain. Jack narrowed his eyes. He turned towards Bodhi and gestured towards the other one. He couldn't see Brock. He knew that Brock had gone charging off towards the battle and he worried that the man was dead somewhere. Jack drew a bead his and squeezed the trigger. All he felt was the recoil. The man dropped and his partner turned around. Bodhi dropped him seconds later.

Bodhi stepped over the body and gritted his teeth. "The screen said there was ten of them. That makes at least eight with our two. Now what are we going to do, Jackie? I don't know if we've had a wipe out. No idea if Winter's even still kicking."

"If anyone else called me Jackie, I'd have their guts for garters," Jack murmured. He crept towards one of the corners, glancing down the hallways. He didn't see anyone, but he could see the still slightly smoking bullet holes. "They've been fighting here. That means that our guys might be wounded or even dead. We might really be looking at a wipe out."

Winter poked his head out of one of the corridors and raced towards them. "Jack! Jack!"

"Hey!" Jack pulled Winter out of the line of fire and cursed under his breath. He really was getting soft. In his prime, he would have slaughtered all of the invaders in a few minutes. Jack shook his head. He needed to focus on Winter. "Winter, what's wrong? Is everyone dead? Did the reactors crack? Are we about to get split wide open from a bow breaker? What's going on, Winter? Can you tell me or do we need to play twenty questions and charades?"

Winter cocked his head and nuzzled Jack's shoulder. He seemed a little bit relieved, like something good had happened. "He went."

"Who went?" Jack asked. He dragged Winter closer to him, his mind racing. "Who's he, Winter? I can't read your mind, buddy, you gotta tell me."

Winter shook his head and pawed at Jack's shirt. "He's gone. Brock. The bad one. The jerk one."

Jack shook his head and sighed softly. He didn't know what was going on right now, but if Brock was gone... Jack had always had his doubts about the other man for a long time now, but this was starting to make him nervous. Brock wasn't a spy - he had too many mental issues for that to be a thing - but if he was something else, Jack needed to know. He swore under his breath and pushed past Winter. The rest of the ship was weirdly quiet. He counted five bodies. Three of them were invaders and the other two were members of his own crew, Sylan and Greyson. Jack closed their eyes and covered their faces. He didn't like it when he lost anyone. It hurt too much and he had seen it far too many times.

Clint was huddled against one of the walls. He looked up when he saw Jack, his eyes grim. "I'm going to lose my hand."

"Why?" Jack knelt down beside the man, looking at the heavily bandaged arm. "What's wrong with it?"

"I got shot." Clint pulled off the stained bandage with his teeth. "The bolt pretty much cauterized it all the way through. It's cooked meat and a well of infection waiting to happen. The nerves are dead. Get your knife."

Jack pulled out his knife. He didn't want to do this, but Clint seemed to think that there was no other way. Besides, Clint trusted him. The hole was a gaping, ragged thing - the bolt must have come from a pretty close range or they were using an older style laser rifle. Those used inhibitors to actually slow the plasma and force it to penetrate rather than letting it bounce off and burn. Jack didn't want to look at what he was doing and Clint guided him. His own eyes were closed and his breathing was heavy. Maybe it was the smell or maybe it was the fact that his own skill as a medic was going to take a hit. Jack had never really asked what Clint did before he was snatched up by the Andromedi, but he thought it had to do with archery.

"I'm sorry," Jack whispered. He pulled Clint close to him when the deed was done and bound the weeping injury. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't feel sorry for me," Clint replied. "We just gotta find Brock. I saw that blonde guy drag Brock into his ship - they must have used an umbilical or at least docked with us."

Jack nuzzled Clint. "Whatever we do, you're not going to be a part of it. I don't want to risk you."

He never wanted to lose either of his men. Rogers was going to pay, Jack knew. He just didn't know what he was going to that man if he caught up with the man. All Jack knew was that it wasn't going to be good. For once in his life, he was going to make his creators proud.


	24. Chapter 24

The big ship seemed familiar to him in some strange way. Brock wandered through it like he was in a daze, turning his head and trying to understand where he had seen all of this place before. It was all sleek lines and gleaming chrome. There were glass windows in everything and blue lights lined the ceiling. The air was cool and everyone was wearing a uniform. It was pure white with red and gold trim and they had crush caps. Something stabbed behind his eyes and he remembered - just barely - when he wore something like that. He touched his simple black clothes, looking around at all the others. His boots were worn and scuffed, not polished and black, and his head throbbed as he stood there.

Steve squeezed his hands. "How much of this do you remember, Brock?"

"I don't know," Brock whispered. He shook his head and looked down. He kicked at the white tiled ground and shook his head more. "I think I wore a hat like that once, but I don't really remember anything else. It kinda seems... familiar, I guess? I just don't know. Am I supposed to know?" He didn't know if he was or not, but he just looked up and sighed. "I know you, though. I mean... you're familiar to me in a way that nothing else is. I don't know if that's going to be good or not."

Steve didn't say anything. He just lead Brock down a narrow hall, stepping over the partitions, and leading him to a room. It looked like the kind of room that a captain or a commander would have and it was a far cry from the colorful chaos that Clint had. The rooms were quiet large, far bigger than Jack's rooms, and everything was a sleek grey color. Brock sat on the bed, stroking the soft material. He thought that it was some strange form of silk and it felt so familiar. On a whim, he picked up a framed picture and stroked over the face. It was him, all right, but he was wearing a uniform that was red and gold and he looked so much younger. Steve was in the next picture, along with a man that had to be Winter.

They all looked so young, though. Winter had both arms and his hair was shorter. Brock wasn't scared, he looked like he had been able to eat, and they were all in armor. Brock's armor was plain and black with a few gold streaks. Winter's armor was red and black and Steve had the same red, white, and blue armor that he always had. It looked newer, though. It was missing a few dents and dings and a few of the deeper scratches. Their hair was younger and they looked so much happier. Brock wondered what had happened. What had pushed Winter into taking that treatment? What had made _him_ think it was a good idea? Brock cupped the gentle little dolphin in his hands and tried to match it with the one he was wearing in the picture.

"You got it on Mars," Steve replied. He sat beside Brock and touched the little charm. "I think you said that you came from California. I don't know if you said that you had a little First Nations blood or not, but it reminded you of your people. You never took it off and it's all that you wanted once they tried the experiment. I didn't have the heart to let them get rid of it. It might have been a cheap little trinket, but it was yours and I decided that you needed to keep it."

"Thank you," Brock whispered. "Why did we do this?"

"You wanted to serve," Steve replied. "You wanted to answer the call that was sent out after Andromeda attacked one of our carrier ships. It was a route, Brock. They attacked an unarmed ship, split it wide open, and stripped everything out of it. They hit a mining colony, they wiped out a research station, and they bio-bombed one of our lesser colonies. Everyone was reeling and we were desperate. The Andromedi sent Jarrow and Vitani Rusher as sort of attack force. We managed to beat the off and they sent Lady Tomyris. We thought they would try to wipe us out and this was revenge for the battle on -"

"Talon VII," Brock whispered. He looked at his hands and thought he saw a gauntlet. He could hear the shadows of yelling and smell the stench of sulfur. "It was an accident. We didn't know they were there. We didn't know that they had a colony there and when we tried to terraform the place..." Brock trailed off and touched his hip. "That scar there. One of the Sci - one of their natural soldiers - attacked me with one of their - their - was it a plasma sword? They lunged at me and I fought them, but there were so many of them and they just kept coming. They weren't resa. They were too good to be resa. They just kept coming and coming and coming until... until..."

"Until one of them stabbed you," Steve replied. He kissed Brock softly and smiled. "I killed him, remember?"

"Their blood burns," Brock softly said. He looked at his hands, expecting to see a scar. "It's like acid, but there's no scar. There should be a scar there, but there isn't. Why isn't there a scar on my arm? It spattered and the skin twisted over because it didn't heal right."

Steve kissed him softly again and brushed his hair. "They fixed it, Brock. They fixed everything that hurt you, all the scars you got from the fighting you did. And look around," he gestured to the room, to the art on the stark walls, "this is where you lived with me. Those are your paintings on the walls. You were the commander and I was your captain. We did things together. Fought together, killed together, drank together. For all intents and purposes, we were one. You loved me, Brock, and that was why I told Pierce to wipe your mind and hide you instead of try to kill you." He paused and smiled sadly. "You loved me when everyone else thought I was a freak."

"You're the survivor," Brock guessed. He stood up, stroking over the smooth slate objects in the room. "You're the only one that survived the experiments. The one that came out just as sane as he went in."

"Yes," Steve whispered. He pressed a kiss against Brock's unyielding lips. "I thought that you would be the same."

Brock didn't doubt him. He walked around like he was in a daze. A uniform - his uniform - still hung in the closet. His boots were dusty now, but they were still there. His clothing was still folded up in the drawers and there was still a pile of books for him to read. He picked up one of them and put it down. Politics. He didn't know why he would try to read that. That life was thousands of years away, though. Brock wasn't that man anymore. He barely even knew the old man. He kept walking around the room, trying to make sense of it all. The war he had fought in - the war that had broken him - was a stalemate now. The Andromedi queen, Skylan, still had her armies and so did the American confederation.

Brock just sat down again. He was at a loss right now and he didn't know what to do except just try to put one foot forwards and keep moving on.


	25. Chapter 25

Jack rested on the bed and stroked the ragged fabric with his good hand. He didn't know what to say. Clint looked like death warmed over as he curled up under the blankets. The stump was wrapped up in clean gauze and he smelled like herbal ointments. Clint had passed out after the surgery had been finalized. Thankfully, Stefan knew enough surgery to scrape out the rest of the dead flesh. He had managed to deaden things enough and kept his gorge down while he fixed the rest of the limb. The problem came when they discovered that Clint had a sensitivity to the drug they used. Resa healed quickly, of course, but they still couldn't regenerate lost limbs.

Jack wondered if the Andromedi had done that on purpose. He knew that they didn't like it when their creations took on a life of their own - their attempts to engineer centaurs for a human park showed that - and he wondered if there was a reason why the man had reacted so badly. He wouldn't put it past them to do something like that. They might do it just because they wanted to hurt Clint or because they didn't think that resa deserved the chance to be healed. At least the Americans hadn't done something like that. Unlike the Andromedi, who could pretty much get an unlimited supply of soldiers and slaves to transform into resa, the Americans had to bother with the growing and training part.

That took forever. The turn around on resa was about six months. The turn around on grown soldiers like Jack was about fifteen years.

Clint stirred after a few hours and looked up at Jack. "W-where's Brock? Is he safe?"

"I don't know," Jack whispered. He pressed a kiss against the other man's cheek and closed his eyes. "I really don't know. We think that he was grabbed by Rogers and his men. You told me something like that, remember?"

"It doesn't hurt. It just feels weird," Clint whispered. He opened his green eyes again and stared at the wound. It was like he didn't know what he wanted to do, that the injury scared him. "Am I going to stay a medic, Jackie? Are you going to let me get one of those fancy metal hands? Maybe we could pester Jet again, see if he would be willing to patch me up like he patched Winter up that one time." He shuddered some. "On second thought, maybe not. The man doesn't even wash his damn hands and I don't want to be picking bits of duraplast out of my hand for months. I'm not gonna bother with that fake flesh, either. Metal is more sanitary and I don't have to worry about it rotting."

Jack laughed softly. "Jet's good at what he does. Don't write the man off because he's half human and from Centeotl."

Clint shook his head but relaxed against the pillows. He closed his eyes after another minute. He still didn't look like he was feeling that great, but there was nothing Jack could do about it. Winter was still recovering from the brawl. He'd bared his teeth at Jack when the man tried to comfort him and Jack understood when Winter wanted to be alone. Clint seemed to like his company, though. He was content to curl up under the patchwork blankets and listen as Jack contacted the _Tycho_. Realistically, he knew that this job came with the risk of injury and death. Pirates weren't known to be warm, furry creatures. Some of them, like Shetani Taka, were vicious things who seemed to glory in death.

Jack had seen enough death to last him a hundred lifetimes. He had fought in all the worst mud pits and watched as scores of his unnamed brothers were slaughtered by the Andromedi. One of the princesses, Lari, had lead a charge that cost Jack his eye. He was probably one of the only people who had ever escaped the woman. She was renown for her prowess as a warrior and had earned her rank through blood and battle. Jack didn't fault her for it. She was a leader of men, one of the few Andromedi generals to refuse to use the resa. It didn't matter to her, though, that he was grown in a tank. They had tangled each other in a deadly dance so long ago and thinking of it still raised chills on Jack's skin.

Clint must have noticed. "Whatcha thinking?"

"Lari Wolfe." Jack let that name do the talking. "Last I heard, she was playing diplomat on Danu. The Bloody She-Wolf has decided that she's going to trade the battlefield for the cocktail bar."

"Maybe she'll poison that turtle looking Senator," Clint joked. He shook his head. "How many hundred years has that man been kicking? If there's anything that can put him out of our misery, it's Lari Wolf." He paused and tried to scratch his head with the stump. Clint glared at himself after he realized that it wasn't working. "I heard that she's a decent person, you know. For a Sci."

"I wonder if Brock's a resa," Jack quietly said. He rubbed his face. "The warship Rogers had wasn't something that I've ever seen and I've seen every class of ship this galaxy has. He doesn't look like a Sci, but it's not the first time one of ours has gone bad. He might have panicked, might have thought that King Eric was going to turn the cold with Mera hot. Andromeda is big, they offer good pay, and they're more stable than we ever could hope to be. And their ships last longer."

It wasn't uncommon to come across an Andromedi caravel that was over a thousand years old. Jack couldn't imagine having a ship like that, but he also couldn't imagine that the entire planet of Terra Firma would be united under one flag, either.

Clint looked at him like he was crazy. Jack decided to draw back on that front and just sit beside the other man. He still thought that Rogers was a part of Andromeda, though. It would be just like their queen to do something like that. She might not have had the charisma that her counterpart on Terra Firma did, but she was a good leader and knew when to get outside help. Jack wondered what the king though, having to deal with a powerful woman. The king's father - Jack thought his name was Don - had essentially wrestled women back into the home. Eric wouldn't be used to dealing with a woman on equal footing and Jack knew that Skylan - Jack thought that was the Andromedi queen - would use that against him.

He wondered if Steve had those same problems. The Sci had a long history for female military leaders and soldiers, perhaps because they were so different from the humans. Jack had heard that the Sci were half wolf, as had almost anyone who watched a state approved movie, and that they preferred to keep the Terran cultures out of their galaxy. On a whim, he scanned for every ship in the sector. The scan came up like it always did, full of trading ships and a few military vessels, as well as one of those big floating religious schools, but there was one ship that was very different. Its codes were wrong and other captains had noted that it had a leak near one of the reactor panels.

Jack's breath caught as he pulled up the code. He blinked, trying to make sure that he knew what he was seeing, because it might have been a decade since he had served, but Jack knew an Adromedi code when he saw one.


	26. Chapter 26

Steve seemed to want something that Brock wasn't ready to give. He liked to kiss the man, liked to touch him, and seemed thrilled that he was home. The problem was that Brock didn't think he was home. He also knew that Steve's ship was heading into Andromeda. He thought that was treason, but he wasn't going to risk any questions. He didn't know if it would cost him his head. Steve was a brooding man, trying to get everything under control, and he probably didn't want to have his partner ask him what the hell he was doing. Brock tried to keep out of the way. He was tired, he was scared, and this wasn't anything he knew. Going to Andromeda was like admitting you were going to hell - one just did not _do_ that.

Steve cornered him as he left the kitchens. "You seem upset."

"Why are we going to Andromeda?" Brock blurted out. He pulled at his uniform and looked around. "They hate us, Steve! They've attacked us over and over again - why the hell are we going there?!"

"Politics," Steve sighed. He rubbed his face before speaking. "There's been a coup. Bera, the new king, was deposed by one of his aunts. She actually wants another war and Bera was going to sign a peace treaty. Lari Wolfe seems to have taken him god-knows-where and if we can meet with her, she'll bend his ear in our favor." Steve shrugged and kissed his cheek. "I'll admit that it is a bit odd, but the Terran Empire isn't strong enough to take another war. King Eric isn't strong enough to take a war with Kycina. Kycina would level Terra and turn her into a barren wasteland if she had the chance. I don't like the Sci very much, either, but they're our greatest enemies. Getting them on our side - at least sympathetic to our cause - would be incredibly valuable."

He had a reason. He had a good reason. He had a reason that made a hell of a lot of sense. Kycina was supposed to be a vicious warrior and to take joy in the killing. If Bera wasn't like that - and that was a good chance that he wasn't - then they needed him on the throne. Brock just didn't want to play Sci politics. They tended to play dirty and the Palace of the Wolves was stained red with blood. The Sci fought to win. Bera being on the throne - and being a slightly softer ruler - likely wasn't going to last forever. Brock just hoped that Steve knew what he was doing. He hoped that Lari would win her battle and they wouldn't get embroiled in a shooting war deep in Andromedi territory.

Steve squeezed his hand and kissed him. The man was gentle enough, seeming to accept that Brock was still healing, but there was a hardness about him. He drove the crew with an iron fist and quashed any nerves. Brock kept out of it. He tried not to look at the crew too much, even if he knew a few of them. Their faces all looked the same when they were illuminated by the harsh white lights. The chrome and the gas screens seemed so foreign. This ship was clean, was strong, and her reactors hummed with a smooth grace. Droids crowded her halls. Brock tried not to trip over them too much. They cleaned the warship and cared for the crew in a way. Brock also thought they were cute.

He sat on Steve's bed and stroked a glowing picture frame. He didn't recognize the man that stared back at him. They shared the same dark eyes, the same black hair, but that man had a fuller face and harder eyes. That man wore the same uniform Brock did, but it actually fit him. He looked like he didn't limp, like his body was strong and true. Brock touched that face and swallowed. He didn't know who that was. Brock sat the picture down and walked around the room. He touched the pictures, the rivets on the walls, everything that had once been his. Brock wanted to unlock his memories, but he knew that wouldn't happen. Maybe, if he was being honest, he didn't want to know who he used to be.

A long, thin ship pierced the darkness of space. It was slender and made of gleaming metal streaked with white. It seemed to fade into the starry back drop and silently docked with Steve's warship. Brock scrambled with his feet. He hurried down to the airlock, knowing that he was wearing his working uniform, and stood at attention. The airlock slowly hissed open. Steam boiled off around it and vented into the darkness of space. The chains seemed to take forever to unwind and reveal the party that slowly stepped inside.

Lari Wolfe was a slight woman, her thick, black hair bound into a severe braid. She wore a plain blue jacket edged in gold and her silver sash was beaded in intricate ways. She was well armed - Brock didn't know what blasters the Andromed used, but he knew they packed a punch - and a lean Danine wolf walked at her side. She wore a slender golden circlet set in with a few crystals and on her finger was a signet ring. Brock's breath hitched. From what he knew, those were the royal symbols. The Danine wolves were almost worshiped, seen as the gods on earth by the Sci. The one by Lari's side had six glowing gold eyes and it seemed to leer at all of them.

Lari bowed her head. "General."

"Lady Admiral." Steve bowed his head. "I trust that you are well. And the King?"

"In hiding." Lari smiled softly and touched her wrist. "Now. To business." Then she paused and cocked her head, her cat slit golden eyes widening some. "I know you, my friend. It might have been twenty years, but we've fought, I know it."

Brock smiled sadly. "We fought against each other on Talon VII. You and Tomyris, if I remember correctly."

Lari nodded again as she turned back to Steve. "I trust that you'll find our agreement quite satisfactory. And unlike Kycina, we will hold true to it."

"I understand," Steve replied.

Brock held back and waited. He needed to get in touch with Jack and the _Hydra_. He didn't trust Lari and he would feel a hell of a lot better with some extra guns behind him.


	27. Chapter 27

Jack settled on the bridge, his feet propped up on one of electronic panels. He was half asleep, more interested in checking his eyelids for cracks than he was doing any work, and that was why he started when his comm buzzed. Winter bolted straight up like he was summoned from the pits of hell and looked around. Jack ignored him as he grabbed for the comm. It took him a minute to thumb through the messages - the _Tycho_ had picked up another mercenary ship, so he was free - and then he found the message. Brock's icon was a simple wolf, outlined by the moon, and going by the red glow, this was urgent. Jack paused as he looked at it, trying to decide if he wanted to take the message or not.

Brock had left him. He had departed on an Andromedi ship and there was no telling what mess he was in now.

Jack clicked on the message against his better judgement. After a second, Brock's outline appeared in the air. It shimmered with a sapphire light and Brock's colorless eyes stared at him. Jack hated holographic technology. It looked stupid and he hated the way the thing took its time to load. For all he knew, Brock was captured by slavers and this his way of asking for help. Or whatever ship he was on had been caught in an asteroid storm and he was begging Jack's forgiveness. Jack let all of those possibilities swim through his head as the message loaded. Brock clearly knew he way around technology and he wore a strange uniform. He just stared at Jack, like he was expecting the man to say something.

Brock glanced behind him like he was expecting to be found. "Rogers is working with Lari Wolfe. There's been some kind of coup in Andromedi and they want to put some guy named Bera on the throne. I have no fucking idea what he's going to do, but I get the feeling that he's going to need our help. If you show up and radio him, he might be willing to work with you. I don't know Rogers, Jack. He knows me, though, and he sure as hell knows my past."

Brock paused and reached out like he wanted to touch Jack's face. There were tears in his eyes and they glittered like cyber diamonds. "I think I love you. I don't... I don't know what love is. I don't know what Rogers and Rumlow had, but... but I think we had something. I think he likes me. I like you, though, and I don't know how I can tell him that. I miss you something awful, but I had to go. I had to know who I was, where I came from. The same project that made Winter? It made me. Me, him, and Rogers. We're the ones that survived. We're supposed to kinda be like the resa, I guess. They made us to be strong, to be powerful, to win the war for them once and for all, but too many of us died for that to work."

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" Jack softly asked. He shook his head, trying to keep his voice strong. "Why didn't you tell me, Brock? You didn't have to go with that creep. We would have figured it out sooner or later."

Brock closed his eyes and offered a sad smile. "We wouldn't have figured it out anytime soon, Jack. Any information about Project White Eagle was scrubbed as soon as they realized it wasn't gonna work."

"I have no idea what you want me to do?" Jack finally said. "Brock, you gotta tell me these things. Do you want out of there? Do you want to hire the Shadow Knights? You gotta tell me these things, Brock. I... I can't read your mind." He knew it was useless talking to a hologram, but he had to try. "Brock, this isn't the time for you to play games! I need to know what you want us to do, because I sure as hell can't ask you to your face right now. You know that, Brock. You know I can't do that!"

Brock turned his head like he knew that Jack would say something like that, like he knew that Jack would want to ask him something. He turned around like a startled deer and Jack could just see someone off screen. He was about to ask if anything was wrong, even if this message was hours old and there was no way Brock could hear him. Someone said something in a quick, rough language. Jack thought it was Akiran. Brock looked like he didn't know how he knew those words, but he said them anyways. Jack paced, waiting. He hoped against all hope that Brock wouldn't be found out. After all, he knew that Brock was playing a dangerous game and there was a strong chance that he would get hurt.

Lari Wolf stepped into the screen and gave Jack a cold look. "I would like to hire your crew, Captain Rollins. Commander Rumlow here has forgotten how strong our detection equipment is and I knew as soon as he touched the button that he was going to comm you." She paused and her eyes glittered like corrupted gems. "I know that you don't like us, but I can pay you well. Standard Terran credits, American dollars, or even Andromedi gold if that is what you prefer. What I want, however, is that you aid us in our mission to kill Kycina Redwolf."

Jack swallowed and realized that the transmission had gone live. "Lady, you're crazy."

Lari smiled and tossed back her black hair. "I'm not mad, Captain. I'm just interested in a better future for all of us, one that is not drenched with blood and bought with the idea. Believe it or not, the war has been hard on us and many of our Far Rim planets have been the hardest hit. Kycina wants another war. With the resa project back online, she won't even have to recruit the blunderbuss of civilization and keep them drunk."

"Blunderbuss?" Jack asked. "Admiral, you're talking ancient weapons here! We use plasma, not gun powder!"

"It's code for a new type of weapon," Lari explained. "A biological one. She plans to infect our own true believers with a type of virus and release them into your cities. The effects of that, I believe, would be quite deadly. Kycina not only has the funds to do that, she has even secured a sample of one of our old killers. It is called Green Fever and it is usually deadly within the week. In extreme cases, it is even deadly within the hour. She will kill many of our own that way, though she would see it is an acceptable loss. Myself and the other factions do not."

Jack sat down and swore under his breath. He knew what Green Fever was. It had ripped through the barracks on Calleil-II and killed nearly three quarters of the troops there before it had been contained. The only way to stop the bug had been to kill the sick and burn everything they had touched or slept on. Jack felt sick at the possibility. The only Green Fever outbreak he had witnessed had been borne from fleas and rats and it had been deadly enough. Jack didn't want to think of that disease being released in a targeted manner. He had the feeling that Kycina was going to target hubs of trade activity. He glanced up to Lari, trying to understand her motivations.

"Where are you going?" he finally asked.

Lari smiled and bowed her head. "Cy'keelia. The Jonakasakai System. You'll find Rogers and your lover there. Bring your best, Captain, because you're going to need it."


	28. Chapter 28

Cy'keelia was a space station rather than a planet. Andromeda was dotted with the things, Brock realized, but this one was newer than most. It wasn't spotted with rust, nor were there patches of foul water and the oils that came when one was dealing with thousands of docked ships. Cy'keelia was smaller than most stations - her hangar bays only had enough room for maybe a hundred ships instead of the thousands a station like Khal-Admeel had - and it was like she was made recently. For one, her reactor seemed to be humming along just fine and the station didn't have any oddly tilting spots. It was also crawling with soldiers. Many of them wore the dark blue uniforms of the Andromedi Royal Guard, but others wore leopard skin and some were even dressed in pelts.

Brock leaned his head against a plate glass window, trying to think. Cy'keelia seemed so familiar to him, like he had been here before. He wrapped a hand around the worn jade dolphin as memories threatened to overtake him. He glanced down a long hallway, remembering when it was choked with flame. The deck above him had been slicked with blood and oil and the air stunk like burnt ozone. The walls behind him had been nearly torn to pieces and a part of the station had been sealed off when it was breached. Brock rubbed his head. He didn't know how he knew these things, just that he did. Brock looked at his right hand and frowned. The skin there looked like it was fraying and when he touched it, it tore like it was plastic.

A tall Catin, half her face covered in scars and her black pelt bleached from the sun, smiled softly. "It's been a long time, you know."

"Do I know you?" Brock asked. He looked her over, noting that her tail had been cut off and one of her arms was made of gleaming steel. "You look familiar, now that I think about it. Like I should know you." He paused and shook his head, resisting the urge to touch her ears or her long whiskers. "I know you. I know I know you! I know this place, but I don't know why I know it."

The Catin smiled softly and flicked her ears some. "You should know me. I trained you. But even if you have forgotten, my name is Stormheart and I trained you when you were first accepted into Flight School. They must have decided to send you on a top secret mission or something of the sort. Rarely do our warriors leave home like you do - we know where we aren't wanted." She smiled sadly and looked away. "As far as I know, you were stationed here with a few of our other warriors. I don't know how many survived it when this place was attacked."

Brock leaned against the glass again, trying to think. "How do I know that I can trust you, though? I don't even know my own mind. You could be lying to me and I would never know it!"

"Use this." Stormheart touched the jade dolphin with one delicate long finger. She ran her finger over it and gave him a sad smile. "We haven't had one like this in a hundred years, you know. You should know how to work it. Making these look like jewelry was always a great risk - if one of our agents suffered a head wound or was captured and wiped - like you were - they might not know how to operate it. However, the enemy rarely knew what the old ones looked like or how to operate them even if they _did_ find one."

"That's great," Brock snapped, "but what the hell is it and how do I make it work?"

Stormheart touched something on the back of it - a little glyph that Brock had always considered to Chinese - and something whirred softly. The jade glowed with an inner light and he could hear the faintest clicking sound. Brock watched his appearance in the glass and gasped softly as what had to be his true face melted through the illusion. His eyes were darker, sharper. His pupils were long and slit like a cat and scars branded the right side of his face. His ears were slightly pointed at the tips and he seemed to stand stronger. Brock touched his face, shaking his head. He knew this was who he was - knew it like he knew his name - but it didn't seem right. No memories stirred as he looked at his new face, even as he touched the scars on his face.

He had to sit down. Stormheart was saying something, but he wasn't paying attention. Brock needed to take an account of himself right now and he needed to rack what was left of his brains to find out what the hell was wrong with him. He couldn't be Andromedi. He had fought the Sci, he thought, and he couldn't be one. He had tried to kill them. Brock had a kill record - or he thought he did. He glanced over his soldier, thinking that he saw a shock of bright blonde hair. Steves seemed to know him very well. He leaned over the railing, trying to get to the bottom of his morass that was his mind. For a second, he wondered if Steve had made him like he was now.

Stormheart growled softly and glanced back. " _You_."

Steve raised a brow. "Now how do you know me?"

"You did _this_!" Stormheart gestured to the thick band of scars that surrounded her left eye. "I have no idea what your name is and frankly I don't give a damn. But I know you. I know what you did to this place. I know that you destroyed a civilian settlement on Ziyya. I don't know why Lari thinks she can work with you or why she decided she was going to call in a band of mercenaries." She laid her tattered ears back against her skull. "You better watch your back, you murdering little Terran, because I'm going to make sure that you never leave this station."

"I highly doubt that," Steve drawled. "Seeing as you were exiled."

"I will not support a false queen," Stormheart hissed.

"And your money spends just as well as hers," Steve retorted. He grimaced when he saw Brock's face and the scars that crawled up his arms. "Oh, so that's where it was. I thought it was just a piece of cheap junk jewelry - that's why I told you you got it when you asked." He glared at Stormheart and sighed. "Your people have the weirdest ways of hiding technology, you know."

"That's because we were flying to the stars when you were knocking two sticks together," Stormheart dryly replied.

Brock raised his hands and stepped back. The last thing he wanted to do was watch those two have a fight. He had a feeling Stormheart had more than a few surprises up her sleeve and the last thing he wanted to do was watch Steve die. Brock had the feeling that Steve was the reason why he was like this, but he still didn't want to watch the man to die. Steve was the only thing he knew in this crazy galaxy. Steve was probably the reason why he had a morass for a brain. Brock wanted to scream and throw something, but there was nothing he could do about it. He looked down at his right hand and shook his head. The scars stopped there and when he looked up, he understood.

"You did this to me," he whispered. He shook all over as he looked at Steve. "I was your project. We were your resa."

Steve just smiled and reached for a snub nosed blaster. "You always were much too clever for your own good, you know."

Brock wasn't surprised when the blaster ripped through his belly. He just wished he could warn the others.


	29. Chapter 29

Andromeda was something else entirely. While Terran ships were sleek and new, these were older and covered in grime and dust. Aliens crowded this station. Some of them defied all description, almost amorphous blobs of gas and some were hissing bits of energy. The others looked like a cat walking on its hind legs and even more of those had fur all down their backs, like they could raise their hackles at any second. Jack was scared of those. He had no idea what he was getting as he stepped into that sleek, sterile smelling station. The place was huge, made of sheets of steel and panes of clear glass. Knowing Andromeda, it was sheets of specially treated crystal. The station was laid out like a giant wheel, with the center hub alive with movement.

One of the tall cat creatures stopped him. "You are Jack Rollins, yes?"

"Who's asking?" Jack asked. He glanced back and swore under his breath. "What exactly are you and what the hell do you want from me?"

The creature smiled softly and laid back her ears. "I am Stormheart. I usually don't like being stationed this close to the boarder. Too many battles have started here and there have been too many lives lost. The stars sing with their loss and you can find dead ships floating with all of their crew interned inside." Then she paused and cocked her head. "Have you ever heard the story of the wandering star, Captain Rollins? It is one of the oldest stories that my people have. It's one of the first tales we learn as a child and, traditionally, the story told over our graves."

"So what is it?" Jack asked. "And why does it have anything to do with me being here?"

Stormheart shrugged and turned towards the large crystal screen. "Once upon a time, there was a star born in the farthest reaches of our galaxy. It was a very young little star, bright and full of life, and outside our galaxy, some decided they wanted the star. After a time, the star grew in beauty and strength and it was the envy of those who wanted to own it. One day, the star wandered a little from its course and it was taken before its time. So the other stars decided they were going to look for this star and then one found it. It was wounded, broken in strange ways, but it soon healed when in the company of its fellows. So that star was strong and bright until its time and then it bowed to fate, as we all must."

"That's a pretty story," Jack sighed, "but it's absolutely worthless to me."

Stormheart sighed like she thought Jack was a particularly dim child. "The wandering star is your Brock. He was one of ours and then he was taken by the one you call Steve Rogers. He was on a mission for me, actually, sent to find who was smuggling drugs into the Kysayhin Sector. As it turns out, Rogers was buying something that we should have destroyed a decade ago - the drugs needed to create the resa. He was using one of our lockets - one of the ones that we use to hide our most sensitive agents. When Rogers captured him, he attempted to break Brock and use him for his own purposes. When that didn't work, they simply abandoned him and left him to rot."

"And you keep out of Terran space," Jack softly said. "You wouldn't have been able to find him, even if you knew how to look."

"Sadly, you're right." Stormheart looked away and touched the brushed metal railing. "We couldn't find him, no matter how hard he looked. He was written off as dead and given a hero's burial. Or, well, a mock up of him was. He has a library named after him and he has a plague on our Wall of Tears. It will have to come down, of course, and he will be given the honors he deserves."

Jack tried not to say much. He wasn't a fan of the Andromedi and he got a bad feeling when he realized what he might have done with Brock. The Andromedi had tried to kill him more than once and his body bore the scars from their hell weapons. Now he was here, in that cursed galaxy, surrounded by all the people he hated the most. He was going to be fighting for their cause, even if they were likely going to pay him in solid gold. He tried not to shudder. Stormheart must have noticed, because she laid her ears back and flicked her tail at him. Jack rubbed his face. He really did like Brock, enjoyed holding him in his arms, but the Andromedi thing was going to need some working out.

"Could I see him?" Jack suddenly asked. "I... I think I'm in love with him."

_I've been in love with him. I see that now. Him and Clint, even if I don't know how to show it._

Stormheart shook her head. "We've taken him to processing. We think there was some kind of programming that was done to him and we would like to get rid of that so he can... so he can give us a report of everything that he's been through. As much as I hate it, we need to know about the Terran resa program. If they're going to attack us..."

Jack understood. He sighed and went back to his crew. They had gathered in the station mess hall and everyone had gotten a tray of food. Jack glanced at the options. He hadn't eaten in the last eight hours, so he figured that he was going to need something to eat. He entered the line, trying to ignore more of the weird aliens, and helped himself to a rich, spicy stew, a salad, and some flatbread. He didn't like the way any of this looked, but there wasn't any Terran food in the line. Jack tried to ignore the looks of his crew. They wanted to go home, but they couldn't. Jack had gotten them into this mess. He didn't even know if he could get back out of it now.

Clint cuddled into him and smiled softly. "Hey."

"Hay is for horses," Jack teased. He kissed the man gently and cuddled him. "Brock is Sci, Clint."

"I thought so," Clint softly said. "His blood work was a little weird, but they're so close to human that I just waved it off. It doesn't matter to me, though. I love him. I always will."

Jack just hoped he was that strong, even though he feared he would be looking into his nightmares.


	30. Chapter 30

Brock settled against the cool metal wall. His mind seemed to race every which way and he pressed the carved piece of whatever the hell it was against his cheek. It looked like jade, it felt like jade, but he was pretty sure that it wasn't jade. Brock had no idea what it even meant and he couldn't read the markings that decorated the back of it. The knowledge burned at the back of his head, like it wanted to get out more than anything. Brock wrapped his hand around the little dolphin, raking in the scratches that covered his arms. He had been a warrior. You had to be, to get scars that looked like that. Maybe Brock would remember the songs that he surely would have learned or the spicy, sharp, almost herbal stews.

Another Sci, this one named Kajin, looked over a tablet. "I've never seen a wipe to this extent before. I would almost think they gave you a lobotomy, but you wouldn't have healed that well. I don't see the scars, either." He frowned and parted Brock's hair some. "They kept your name, which is curious. I just have no idea how they would rewrite your mind to this extent. Hell, we didn't even go this far when we were trying to make the resa better and stronger. They would have damn near killed him to get this deep!"

"They may have been wanting to kill him." Clint walked into the medical bay like he owned the place and whistled loudly. "This place is pretty awesome. You've got all sorts of tech that I've never seen before! Could you teach me how to use this? What kind of things are you looking for? How the hell are you going to get his brain working again and will someone please let me use one of those cool looking laser rifles?! Seriously. Those things look like they could pack a punch, but I also would not be opposed to one of those energy crossbows because those look as cool as hell, too. But this is honestly the coolest, sleekest looking medical bay that I've ever seen and probably the best stocked, too."

Brock smiled and slid off the bed to give Clint a big hug. "Clint! You managed to get here! Is Jack here, too?"

"Yeah and saying that he's not happy is an understatement," Clint replied. He kissed Brock lightly on the lips and brushed back his mussed up hair. "You were asking about his mind when I got here. I'm nowhere near as advanced as you guys, but I got exposed to some of your resa drugs. That was not pleasant, let me tell you. But I do know something - you guys had a drug that went into the mind and made us more obedient. We got that warm fuzzy feeling when we did something right and you rewarded us. Hell, I still feel that now."

Kajin winced, shame in his bright silver eyes. "I... yes. It was derived from _ch'iakala_ venom. They're what you might call merfolk, only they're really a type of eels. They bite their prey in order to make them more obedient, to serve the merfolk until they're all used up or even cook themselves in underwater vents. It was... not one of our finer moments, capturing the _ch'iakala_ and culturing their venom. They're near human, you know, and they knew that we were going to hurt them. But I don't quite understand why you brought it up. The drug is a mild one, not life threatening. Why would they use such a thing?"

"To get in his head and make him want to obey," Clint softly explained. "No crazy drugs, no extreme surgeries. Just a few shots of that every day for a week and he would have done whatever they wanted."

"Then why didn't he tell them about the locket?" Kajin asked. "You know the Terrans would have asked or even tried to force it out of him. They wanted our technology then as they do now! I've talked to many Terrans, especially the ones we rescue from old derelicts and floating graveyards. They're very sick when we find them, exposed to chemicals and weapons that we had tried to destroy but failed for some reason. Men died for our old solar bombs - that's why we destroy them in the hearts of our stars now."

Clint shook his head. "I don't think they cared about the locket and he really doesn't look all that different. It just looks like cheap jewelry to most folks anyways - I'm pretty sure that's what they thought it was and there was no need for them to try and take it apart."

Brock raised his hand. "Since y'all are talking about me, when I do I get the chance to say something? Cause I hate being bickered over like I'm a piece of meat or something. It really does get old, you know."

"Then what do you want to say?" Kajin asked. "Anything that might help, just a little, would greatly assist us in finding out how to free your mind."

"They used an IV," Brock softly said. "I remember that it hurt a lot and I spent a lot of time lying on a mat, trying not to bleed to death. It was always dark in there and it hurt my eyes when they tried to use the lights. I don't remember a lot of things from that place, just that it was very cold and there was someone with blonde hair. He was so very interested in me, like I was some kind of science experiment and he was a kid trying to win first prize. He kept talking about someone called Bucky and demanding that I fixed him. I... I tried to tell him that I fought, that I couldn't understand medical things even if they tried to force me. i don't think he believed me, though. Why would he?"

_To them, we're the monsters that hide under between the asteroids. We're the animals that kill them for no reason or the ones that strike suddenly with no warning. But to us, they're the monsters._

"We're the monsters," Brock whispered softly. "We're the monsters that they tell little kids about..."

"We're not monsters," Kajin softly said. He shook his head and touched Brock's hands. "I'll look into the antivenom, by the way. If that would clear out the fog in his brain... He knows the Palace of the Wolves almost as well as Bera does. As much as I hate to say it, it would be better to send him on that run. Maybe with Lari or even Stormheart."

Brock looked at his hands and then at Clint. "Can you love me, when I'm like this?"

"Yes." Clint kissed him gently and held Brock close. "I can love you like this. I could love you even if you were some kind of horrible monster. I'm sure that Jack would learn to love you, too."

Brock tried to make himself believe those words. Otherwise, he feared that he might break for good.


	31. Chapter 31

Jack slid against the wall and rubbed his face. Between this and the current fuck up that was dealing with Steve Rogers, he didn't know what he was going to do. Everything he had thought about the universe was coming crashing down. He had thought that the resa program was just an Andromedi thing, that his own people would be far too honorable to attempt anything like that. The thing was, though, that Jack bore the scars of fighting with the Sci. He knew their laser rifles and the deadly ways they tuned their ships. He knew the ways they seemed to glory in the violence. Jack hadn't even known that the Catin existed. After al, it was forbidden on pain of death for a Terran to cross into Andromedi territory.

Someone sat down beside him and offered Jack a thin tube of highly scented rolled herbs. He was a young looking man, with eyes the color of new ice and long, black hair that was braided in elaborate ways. He wore loose plate armor and that, too, was style in an intricate scrolling patterns. It looked like it had been burnished once. The young man had tight, bright blue leather pants on under his armor and he wore a loose, off white shirt with gold trim and a pattern on the back of it. Whatever it was, it was so highly stylized that Jack had no idea what it was. The man must have seen he was looking, because he reached into a pocket and pulled out a strange, spiky silver looking instrument.

"Would you like a light?" the man asked. He had a light accent and he tossed back his hair. "I'm called Rendar Jash. From the Nih'kiio System, Alenmour to be exact. You seem like you're bored."

Jack eyed the tube. "What is that and what am I supposed to do with it?"

"You smoke it. Like this." Rendar demonstrated with the instrument. It made a cherry red little flame and lit the end of the tube quickly. "We call it _gih'teena_. I don't know exactly what it translates to in Terran, but it's something close to "relaxation". I think. Don't hold me to it. Speaking Terran gives me a bit of a headache. You know my name, though, so I think it would be fair if I knew what yours is."

"Jack Rollins." Jack held the smoking thing and sniffed it. He made a face before handing it back to Rendar. "No offense, but this doesn't seem like something I'm going to be interested in. I would like to be in charge of my own faculties. I don't know if it doesn't effect you like it might me, but I'm afraid that's going to knock me on my ass for a good three days. If we're gonna do anything with Rogers and if we're gonna attack that place on Danu, I'm going to be needing to be hitting on all cylinders. No offense, though."

Rendar shrugged and looked like he was going to enjoy it. Jack wanted to get away from the man, but he didn't know how to do that without being rude. He wasn't a fan of the Sci. He'd fought with them too many times for him to really trust them. Rendar seemed like he was decent enough, but it was all too easy to imagine Rendar's face contorted in rage and a laser sword or a rifle replacing whatever he was smoking. The fumes from that thing were just as heavily spiced as the herbs and Jack could feel his lungs burning. The one good thing that his time in the service had done was keep him out of any kind of drug or vice. He had no desire to start now, especially with something he might not be able to get in any other place.

Jack made a face and got up. "That stuff reeks. I don't know how you stand it."

Rendar waved him off. Jack coughed softly and hurried down the hall. This station was far cleaner than the ones he was used too and it felt so strange to him. He was used to stations that were streaked with rust and grime, with pools of fetid water and thick black cables that snaked across the floor, and with viewing panes that were covered in grime from years of neglect. This station was made of glistening steal and hissing pneumatic pumps that moved ships across the dock. Things were made of carved panes of rock crystal or finely wrought steel and copper. The lights looked like they were clean instead of cracked and faded and no one was sleeping in the corridor.

Jack had no idea why things were so different. The people here were clean and well fed. No one had clothes were merely rags or threadbare. The ships might have been old, but they were well cared for. There were signs in several different languages instead of the mandated signs in American English. Many of the traders were armed, of course, but they didn't look like they were about to fly off the handle and start killing people for no reason. Women moved freely through the station, wearing light clothing or whatever they preferred. Jack wasn't used to seeing that - there were no female pilots in Terran space and no woman could ever think of running anything more than her household within her husband's parameters.

Then a horrid thought entered Jack's head. It went counter to everything that he had been taught or even heard: Maybe Terra was wrong when they invaded Andromedi space.

He wondered where these people had gotten their ideas from. The Terran culture was said to come from their God and that was why everything was the way it was. The Terran leadership had been divinely appointed. Men had been appointed as the heads of their women. There was never going to be any change because that was just the way things were. The leadership wanted to be worshiped and that was supposed to come from God, too. For a second, Jack entertained the thought that the God he had been trained to worship was just as false as the reasons Terra invaded Andromeda, but he soon banished it. Jack didn't need to go too far with his treasonous thoughts.

He ended up standing in front of a tiled shrine. A mosaic showed a woman, her black wings covering a group of stylized white wolves, and holding a sword. The shrine was made of glass and shells, each selected carefully and placed there with loving hands. Jack touched the statue with shaking hands, his fingers brushing over the real feathers that framed the woman's face. He couldn't read the script, but he could tell that this was so much more _real_ than the cold plastic and concrete churches he had been forced into before.

A young woman robed in white with gold trim smiled softly. "Her name is Madga, the patron goddess of the lost and weary."

"Thank you," Jack whispered. He turned away. "I don't think I've ever seen anything so beautiful before."


	32. Chapter 32

The medics wanted to keep him away from everyone else. Brock understood there. There was no telling what was wrong with him and if he would suddenly lash out and start killing. Steve probably wasn't talking. The Sci didn't seem like they wanted to torture him, even though Steve might deserve it, so they were going to just let him stew in his cell. Lari was probably overplanning whatever raid they were going to try. Brock didn't remember that much about Danu or the Palace of the Wolves, so he didn't know how much help he was going to be. Clint and Kajin were the ones who visited him mostly. Clint had learned Felian quickly enough, so he was talking to Kajin in the language that he grew up with.

Brock cocked his head. " _I think I understand what you're saying_."

" _You should_ ," Kajin replied. He smiled and settled beside Brock in the plush loveseat. " _This wasn't your mother tongue - you were born on Borlian, not Felis - but the languages are close enough_."

Brock nodded. " _It's weird to have someone tell you about your past, you know. I think I would have remembered what planet I was born on. But what's it like there? Is it mostly Sci? Was there anything there before Andromeda showed up or was it just a blank?_ "

Kajin just smiled and handed him a tablet computer. Something that looked like a smaller, lither version of Kajin cleaned the little room. Brock ignored them like they ignored him. That little creature left him alone for the most part. He had no idea what they were and he wondered if they couldn't speak the language. Clint was doing whatever he needed to do, so that left Brock all alone. Brock tried to tell himself that he didn't mind. His own memory was a mystery to him, so he probably needed to work it out first. Besides, Kajin had given him a tablet about himself and Borlian. Brock almost didn't want to read it, but he had too. He had to know who he was and where he came from, even if it hurt.

Borlian was a world of thick, tangled forests, wild rivers, and plunging cliffs. Its main exports were carved granite - called _li'hidran_ in the local language - timber, pelts, and wheat. The population centers were clustered in the few temperate zones and many of the people used small, personal transporters to get around the planet. Borlian had been uninhabited until the Sci showed up and the most complex form of life had been several massive bird species. The animals still roamed in their forests and great care was taken to keep them just as wild as ever. There was one space port, which served a small fleet of merchant ships and provided jobs for anyone not employed in resource extraction.

Beyond that, though, Borlian was just as sterile as the information on this tablet. Brock put the thing down after a minute, wondering what he was going to do. He felt no connection to that planet and for all he knew, Kajin was lying to him. He thumbed through the files again. A Brock Rumlow had been born there and their faces looked similar enough, but that didn't mean they were the same person. Cloning was forbidden in Andromeda, of course, but that didn't mean it was forbidden in Terran space. For all Brock knew, the real Commander Rumlow was dead in a ditch somewhere and he was just the poorly built replacement. Brock wanted to throw the thing across the room even though he knew it wouldn't do any good.

Jack knocked on the door before he entered. "Hey."

"Hay is for horses." Brock slowly got up and touched the taller man's face. "Can you love me?"

"I'll try." Jack kissed him softly and held Brock close. "I get the feeling that I'm not supposed to be here, you know. That Kajin of yours is a real mother hen - I think he thinks that I'm going to hurt you or something. They're trying to get your mind back so you can take them through some kind of tunnel system. Apparently the Palace of the Wolves has a few blind spots that Bera left wide open."

Brock curled up close to him and closed his eyes. Tears burned down his cheeks as he stood there. He didn't know what to do. Everything hurt and he didn't even know who he was anymore. Maybe he had hated being a whore and then a janitor, but at least he had an identity. Here, he was nothing. So many people were telling him _what_ he was. It seemed like who he was - who _he_ , Brock Rumlow, wanted to be - was just an afterthought. No one seemed to notice that he was hurting or scared. They just stripped his identity away and gave him a few ill-fitting puzzle pieces and the command to make everything fit together right. The problem was that Brock didn't know where to even being.

"I don't even know who I am anymore," Brock slowly said. "Kajin keeps telling me that I was a commander and I saw something that I shouldn't have. It might even be in this sector, but we don't know what. He thinks it has to do with Kycina and some guy named Pierce."

"Alexander Pierce is the head of the Terran secret police," Jack explained. "I thought he hated Sci. I mean, you have to if you want that job. No offense, Brock."

"None taken." Brock sat down and rubbed his face. "Why would an Andromedi princess want anything to do with a Terran cop? Especially one as violent as him? She could have whatever she wanted - pull a Rajin Arra even and ship the heads of her enemies in boxes if she wanted too - and she might have chosen to do something with him. If I wasn't crazy, I would think she was pulling a Captain Nemo!"

"Captain Nemo?" Jack asked.

Brock frowned. "It's a children's cartoon. It's about this crazy space pirate captain and the things he does around the galaxy. Or Bad Space, I think. It's supposed to show kids around Andromeda and teach them... teach them about the planets or something. But then adults really liked it, so they started adding in story limes about the crew and he married this space witch named Ace Diamond or something."

Jack sighed and held him close. "It's a good thing I love you. Otherwise..."

Brock kissed his cheek. "I know. I know I'm a monster to anyone in Terran space. Maybe that's all I'll ever be."

Jack closed his eyes and tried to stay strong, but a single tear slipped down his cheek. Brock wished he knew why.


	33. Chapter 33

A monster. Brock thought he was a monster.

Jack didn't know what he was going to do with that information. For a few long seconds, he thought about what he had said about the Sci. It hurt knowing that he could have injured an already wounded man. Brock was so weak and fragile that he didn't even know who he _was_. Jack had no idea what that might be like - not knowing the man who lived in your head. That had to be a special kind of hell. Jack shook his head and slowly realized that Brock probably didn't even know if he had been raped or not. There was no telling how long he had been a prisoner and live Sci prisoners were hard to come by. Sci were known for killing themselves instead of allowing themselves to be captured. Jack thought it was an honor thing, though he didn't know for sure.

He nudged Brock and sighed. "You're not a monster, sweetheart. I... Look. Sci and monster aren't the same thing, no matter what us Terrans might like to think. We fought a war because we were made too and as soon as we outlived our usefulness, they dumped or destroyed us. They didn't need subjects - they have fifty thousand leftovers from some world war or another and as soon as they killed one, they defrosted another. But you... Brock, I think we attacked you. I don't think we had any right to be there or take that planet and the generals knew it. I..." He trailed off and looked away. "I think we were fighting just to make some people very rich. It was a useless war."

Brock just curled up in Jack's arms. He seemed so small, so fragile, like a single gust of solar wind could sweep him away and abandon him among the stars. Jack had never been this close to Brock before - he had never seen how fragile and thin the man's lashes were, nor had he ever seen the freckles that tried to peek out from under tawny skin. Brock was a little warmer in Jack's arms than a human and maybe his eyes reflected the light, but he was just as human as anyone else. Jack touched the man's face with trembling hands. He might not have been cruel to the Sci, but he had never been kind. Full-blooded Sci might never venture into Terran space, but the part-blooded ones did and Jack looked the other way when they were abused.

"I don't know the first thing about me, not really," Brock finally said. "I have no connection to the information I've been given. Kajin said that he couldn't give me information about my missions because it was all classified. Someone named Skylan had it all sealed when I went missing. I have no idea if I unleashed a planet killer or if I worked to save lives. Whoever I was - this Commander Rumlow - he's dead."

Jack shook his head. "He's not dead. He's like the wandering star that Stormheart told me about. He's just sleeping and when the time is right, he'll come back."

"I'm not the man these people need me to be," Brock replied. "They're looking for someone to rally the people and the Danine Guard. Well, I'm not that person, not anymore. I have no idea who any of these people are and they're going to know it. If I do the wrong thing, that's going to start a war."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence again. Jack really didn't like this station - it was too clean and too quiet. He wasn't used to the crisp, white walls or the way that the Sci could leave valuable equipment around without the need for heavy guard. The people seemed so much more calm and relaxed, like they weren't expecting someone to crash down on their heads for a stray thought. Jack had never seen people dress in colorful silks, cottons, and feather cloaks. He was used to simple flight suits and maybe a silver chain, not beings walking by who were draped head to toe in gold. Sure, the locals looked like they were armed, but people weren't going to start fights for no reason.

Jack squirmed when he realized something. He had no way of telling if Winter was a Sci or not. The man had survived things that would kill anyone else. Sure, he had lost his mind in the process, but he was still alive. Jack would prefer mad and living to sane and dead and he had a feeling that Winter would have thought the same thing. Still, though, Jack knew that there was a chance that Winter was at least part Sci. Jack couldn't bring himself to throw that innocent away and blame him for things that might not have been his fault. Winter wouldn't understand. Winter would just think that Jack didn't love him anymore and wanted to hurt him just because. Winter probably didn't know what Sci were, much less that he might be one.

"I think I love you," Jack softly said.

Brock gave him a long look. "Great. What exactly am I supposed to do with that?"

"I don't know?" Jack replied. He rolled his eyes. "Maybe I was hoping that you would feel it, too."

"No offense, but I hardly know who the hell I am right now and the last thing I need to do is add a relationship to the mix," Brock flatly replied. "Look. I like you. I liked you even when you pushed me away for gods know what reason. You haven't exactly been a solid rock for me to rest my weary head on, you know. If you're worried about my virtue or lack thereof, you can kindly go fuck yourself with a rusty sword. I'm not a child, I'm not stupid, and I'm not going dive headfirst into a relationship when I don't know what the hell I'm doing with myself."

Jack cleared his throat. "I see I'm meeting Commander Rumlow right now."

The light reflected sharply in Brock's eyes and Jack shivered. The man looked like the predator that he was.

Brock rolled over on his elbows and gave Jack a long look. "Just because I'm telling you that I don't wanna do this right now doesn't mean I'm some hypothetical asshole Commander. Maybe I was real nice before all this happened. Maybe I wanted to have sex all the damn time until it was forced on me." He shook his head and wrapped the blanket over his shoulders. "Jack. I think you're a nice guy, I really do, but I'm not ready for anything resembling a relationship right now. Maybe when the mess is all sorted out in my head - we can think about it then and I can get my legs back under me and we won't mess everything up. If I'm gonna be in a relationship with you and Clint, I wanna do things the right way."

Jack shook his head and got up. He kicked the wall savagely for a second and then whipped around to glare at Brock. All his life, he had wanted a relationship with someone he could trust and now that person was going to leave him out in the cold. Jack wanted to scream. He wanted to beg the universe to give him someone that really cared - or give him what he wanted for a change - but he couldn't force the words out of his mouth.

Jack took a deep breath. "Fine. Maybe we'll pick up then. I hope it still has the same spark."

He needed to find a gym and train until he collapsed and bled the anger out of him. Maybe Brock would forgive him afterwards.


	34. Chapter 34

Brock didn't know what to think. On one hand, he knew he wasn't ready for a relationship. On the other, he didn't want to turn Jack off of him forever. He didn't know what to do. The idea of anyone touching him in a sexual manner made his skin _crawl_. Brock had the idea that Commander Rumlow had been a bit of a flirt and maybe that had been used against him. Brock didn't know how he knew that, but he just _knew_. It was very strange, walking around with a head full of memories that he couldn't really access. He didn't know what to do. The doctors couldn't exactly help him. It turned out that Andromeda had only dabbled in memory sciences. They were really flying blind and the only person who might have been able to help him was dead.

Yes, Andromeda had executed the one researcher who had dabbled in memory science. Brock didn't know why, but he did know that he wanted to throw the tablet across the room. The one man that could heal him was dead and his body destroyed according to Caprinian custom. Brock swore under his breath. He thumbed through the rest of the tablet, hoping against hope that enough of the man's research was preserved so that Kajin could figure out what was wrong with him, Maybe there was some kind of fancy serum that Kajin could cobble together and then inject. Sci were tough. Brock was willing to play the guinea pig. He wanted to get his memory back and was willing to do whatever it took to get it.

"What are you looking for?" Kajin moved like the ghost he was and looked over at the tablet. "Ah. Doctor Ni'keelio. There's a reason he's dead, you know."

"I want my memory back," Brock softly replied. "He had the answer! Then you killed him! Burned all of his work, too. What's gonna happen if my head doesn't get right? Am I just gonna walk around for the rest of my life like I'm some kind of shell? Half a man when I could be a whole one?"

Kajin took the tablet and leaned it against a metal shelf. "There's more to that story, you know. He wasn't trying to help people - he was working for a crime syndicate and he wanted to find a way for his boss to beat a memory trial. He killed a lot of people. I might not have been there, but I heard the stories. He used captive human soldiers from... I don't know where, but they spoke neither Akiran or English. They were pitiful things, you know. Young and vulnerable and broken. They didn't deserve what happened."

"I know," Brock whispered. "I just want to have my head back in order."

Kajin didn't say anything for the longest time. He just leaned against the clean, white wall and tapped his fingers against the decorative ridges. All around them, the station hummed with activity. Brock could see throngs of beings through the one way pane. This station had to be one of the major hubs. He could almost always hear the quiet roar of a ship disengaging or feel the shudder when one docked. Everything was bright and clean and perfect. The machines in the lab hummed with a quiet efficiency. Brock didn't know what they were. They were clean and chrome where the Terran machines were made of chipped and battered plastic. The air smelled of cleaner rather than blood and the floor wasn't covered in stains.

"I don't think it's ever coming back," Kajin finally said. "If it was, it would have happened by now."

Brock shook his head and slowly got up. "Please tell me you're lying because I don't know what the hell I'll say otherwise!"

Kajin smiled sadly. "I know a little about the memory sciences myself. Not much, of course, but just enough to know what to expect. In most cases of this kind of trauma, it would have recovered if it was going to do so. But it hasn't, so it won't."

Brock curled into the other man's arms and let the tears burn. He didn't know what to say, but he knew he couldn't hold this in anymore. But to know that he would never be healed - that he would never be _normal_ \- was almost too much. Brock swallowed thickly. His heart thudded painfully in his chest as he realized that he was going to stay in this half life forever. People would look at him and act like they had seen a ghost. Brock wanted to scream at them, wanted to tell them that he hadn't chosen this, that this was the last thing he wanted. It was bad enough to be Sci and in love with a human. Now he was going to add a permanently broken head to the mixture.

There was no way in hell that Jack would want him now. First Brock had put him off and now he was learning that he wouldn't ever be normal again. Maybe Clint would want him, but Jack probably didn't.

"What am I going to tell Jack?" Brock softly asked. "I already told him - "

"You told him the right thing," Kajin replied. "I've never felt the urge to love anyone like you do, but you aren't ready for what he wants. It might be a long time before you're ready. It doesn't mean you're bad or broken. It just means that you need a little time, that's all. Doesn't have to have any shame about it and if Jack wants to make an issue of it, then that's how you know he wasn't meant for you."

"I guess." Brock pulled away and wandered over to one of the big windows. "I don't know how I'm going to lead that team, though. If Commander Rumlow really is dead, I'm going to be just as lost as they are."

"You know, your problem might be that you're trying to force things through," Kajin softly said. "You can't use a crowbar on your brain. You need to use a silk glove. Maybe you should stop stressing about it so much and let your mind do its thing. I think it would be better able to repair itself than any bizarre formula cooked up by a criminal!"

Kajin probably had a point. That didn't mean that Brock had to like it, though. He gritted his teeth and wandered around the room. He wanted to know who he was and what he was - surely that couldn't be too much to ask the universe? It was such an infinite thing. It couldn't have cared what he said or did that much, so why did it lock him away? For a second, Brock wanted to storm over to Steve and punch that man square in the face. He _knew_. He knew what that serum or therapy or witchcraft - whatever the hell it was - would do and he had allowed it. No, _ordered_ it. Why? Brock had a sick feeling that it went beyond a petty power squabble in another galaxy.

If the Sci could be turned against each other and made to follow the Terrans, then a good part of Andromeda could be taken. Brock just hoped he was wrong because he didn't like that train of thought.


	35. Chapter 35

Jack picked up the steel staff and swung it around a few times. The Andromedi were one of the few galaxies that still indulged in hand to hand combat training and it was probably part of the reason why they kicked Terran ass so well. Things on Talos went from a quick mop up to the cybernetic version of trench warfare within a few weeks. No man's land had been established between a mountain range and a river and, somewhere in all that mess, some fool had strung razor wire between all the trees. Jack's men didn't find _that_ little nasty surprise until they were the ones charging headlong into it. After that, the battalions had started sending men across to act as scouts and lured them in with the promise of riches and freedom.

Spivey had called that the "charge of the Light Brigade". Jack didn't know why that was funny until he swiped a tablet and looked it up. After that, he and his men had taken turns reading the poem with increasing drama and hand gestures. Of course, none of that was funny to the men who had been ripped apart by laser cannons or rotary rifles. Jack never did take any of the officers up on their offer, even though the men who survived - what few of them - actually were freed and resettled elsewhere with a generous pension. No, Jack preferred to stay in the trenches and pick off anyone brave enough to stick their head out of their bunker. As it turned out, the steel helmets the Sci used generally protected the wearer, so it took at least six good hits to put a hole in one.

A younger Sci warrior walked over and stripped off his sweaty tank top. He had thick, dark hair, curly like most Sci, and one of his pointed ears had a long gash down the side. He was a little darker than the other warriors and he carried himself with a cat like grace that Jack truly envied. He had always loved the way the Sci moved and thought it was a waste of talent for them to have such grace and speed. The young warrior tossed his sweaty tank top over on a pile of other clothes, including a wolf skin, and his green eyes glittered like cut emeralds. There was something hot in his eyes, something polarizing, and he cocked his head like the rabid dog he probably was. Jack noted a tribal wolf, white like his fur cloak, tattooed on his back and arms, but he dismissed it.

The warrior picked up a staff. "Want to spar?"

"Why not?" Jack growled. H settled into a fighting stance and suddenly lashed out. "I'm not gonna go easy on you, mind!"

"Good." The warrior effortlessly parried his blow. "I wasn't looking for an easy fight!"

Jack jabbed at him, trying to get the younger man off balance. The warrior darted around him and turned on his heels. He batted away Jack's staff and aimed for his knees. Jack jumped over the blow. He blocked the warrior's next three strikes and scent him scrambling backwards. The world narrowed to just the two of them and the way they danced over the rubber mat. The warrior was barefoot and he moved like a dancer might - graceful, nimble. There didn't look to be an ounce of wasted flesh on his body and every blow was short and brutal. Jack parried them all away. He turned on his heels and rammed the butt end towards the man's belly. The warrior grunted as it clipped him and he tried to yank the staff away.

Jack jerked it forwards and forced the younger man to his knees. "Yield?"

"Not hardly." The warrior smiled and grabbed Jack's leg.

Jack grappled with him, trying to force him down to the mat. The warrior's body was hard with muscle and he had a grip like iron. Jack grunted as he started to be forced down. He kneed the younger man in the chest, making him gasp, and he used that moment of weakness to slam him down. The warrior grunted in surprise and pain. He suddenly clawed at Jack's arm, making the man gasp in pain. Jack didn't try to do anything else. He didn't like getting scratched by a Sci - who knew what bacteria they had under their nails - and he also didn't want to get his throat ripped out. That was how Spivey had gotten killed. The Sci were really nasty when it came to fighting. They wouldn't know fair if it bit them the ass.

"Who are you?" Jack asked. He wiped the sweat off and wrapped his arm in a scrap of fabric. "Jack Rollins. I would say that I was at your service, but I left that several years ago and I'm not going back to it."

"Bera Wolfe." Bera smiled and held out his hand. "Thanks for the fight, by the way. It's been awhile since someone has given me that good of a fight!"

"My pleasure," Jack muttered. He eyed the man, but shook Bera's hand after a minute. "I've never met a Sci in person before. I've only fought with them before and killed them. And shot them in the head, of course. I've never actually sparred with them - well, one of you - before. So it was an interesting fight."

"Thanks." Bera just smiled again. "I've never fought with a Terran, so it was fun for me, too."

"That's saying something," Jack sighed.

Bera touched his face. "We should do this again sometime."

Jack tried not to scowl. The last thing he wanted to do was get his ass kicked by a Sci - _again_.


End file.
